Harry Potter And The Werewolf Prophecy, Volume 1
by Westprog
Summary: Harry Potter returns to Hogwarts and faces the biggest revelation of his life. N.b. Following justified criticism I'm now splitting this into chapters. Content is still the same. N.B. This is volume 1. If there is sufficient interest and demand, there may be a volume 2.
1. 01 - Preface

Preface

This is an entirely unauthorised sequel to the Harry Potter series of books. It takes place a little over a year after the end of the events described in Deathly Hallows. It takes everything up to that point as being canon. It can be read as an eighth book in the series. It is _not_ bound by any of the events described as having happened afterwards, including the Epilogue to Deathly Hallows, and The Cursed Child. Nor do I feel bound by any observations or clarifications from the author beyond the actual text of the novels.

This is the first volume of the story of the Werewolf Prophecy. It may be that when you've finished reading this part of the story, you'd like to encourage me to complete it. I suggest that you make an online donation to a breast cancer charity, and forward the receipt to me at TheWerewolfProphecy at . If, however, you don't like the story, and would like me to stop writing and leave the story unfinished, then please make an online donation to a prostate cancer charity, and similarly, send me the receipt.  
Please feel free to use these, or any other charities. It is of course not compulsory to make a donation of any amount, but I suggest an amount of €5, £5, $5 or whatever your local currency may be. You may also tag the donations and online discussions on Twitter etc., with #stopwerewolfprophecy and #completewerewolfprophecy.

This work has been edited as thoroughly and carefully as possible, but there will undoubtedly be mistakes. If you find an error, be it spelling, grammatical, or continuity, then I will attempt to correct it as soon as possible, and if you wish, I will add your name to the story as a new student, Death Eater or other background character. This offer applies to the _first_ person to respond to each error only!

If you wish to have your name added to the story and can't find an error, I will add you in exchange for a donation of €50/$50/£50 to one of the above charities, or similar. Send me a copy of the receipt at the above email address.

 **Important note: if you're a child (according to whatever jurisdiction you're in) then don't contact anyone online without checking with a responsible adult. If you aren't sure, then check.**


	2. 02 - Acknowledgements

Acknowledgements

Firstly, this story is entirely dependent on the characters and plotlines established in the original work. It's mainly an exploration of what was already created by The Original Author.

This has been scrutinised by Emma and by Mr and Mrs Kinch. My writers' group have offered comment and advice. (Including "why aren't you writing your own stuff?"). Certain members of my family have helped with reading, and general support. One's spouse is invaluable.

This is a hugely complex world to attempt to write in. I've relied heavily on the . website for reference material.

Any mistakes will end up being blamed on me, so I might as well own them.


	3. 03 - The Aftermath

The Aftermath

 _Molly Weasley sat with her dead son's head resting in her lap. Around her, in the shattered hall, the air was rent with screams and weeping. Molly didn't make a sound._

 _Ron released Hermione's hand and moved to sit with his family. Harry moved beside her and put an arm across her shoulder. She leaned against him, shivering._

 _Molly looked up and spoke. "We'll bring him home, to The Burrow. With all my children."_

 _Harry and Hermione stepped back. Molly looked at them. "_ All _my children, Harry. Hermione. Come here."_

Harry Potter stood looking at the garden from his bedroom window. He looked like an ordinary young man. He was below average height, had unruly thick black hair, and wore thick-lensed glasses. On his forehead was a zig-zag scar, which had faded slightly in recent months. His eyes bore the stress of many tragedies, great and small – but Harry Potter was happy today, in spite of his worries.

Harry Potter was no ordinary youth. He was a wizard, and had become one of the most famous wizards in their hidden world. He had defeated Voldemort, the dark lord, not once but at least three times. He had been seeker on his house Quidditch team at Hogwarts, a flyer good enough to be complimented by the great Victor Krum. He was now a trainee Auror, one of an elite team who fought evil wizards.

He was not in his old bedroom in Privet Drive. He'd never return there, he was sure of that. Not in the Gryffindor dormitory in Hogwarts, shared with Ron, Neville and Seamus. He had left Hogwarts in ruins, and did not expect to return there either. Not with Hermione and Ron in the tent, its location changing every night to escape pursuit from Death Eaters. He was back in the Burrow, the family home of the Weasleys.

The Burrow had always been a battered, ramshackle kind of place, but when it had been hastily abandoned by the Weasley family, it had become very run down. Arthur and Molly Weasley had left preservation spells to keep the place together, but it had been attacked and damaged by Death Eaters and their cronies. When the Weasleys returned, it was a pitiful sight. The Weasley family, helped by their many friends, had spent several months restoring and refurbishing. Their belongings had mostly been well hidden, but much had been lost forever.

Harry had worked as hard as the Weasleys themselves at restoring The Burrow, and many wizards had come to help, but there was still something missing – not in the fabric of the building, but in the spirit of its occupants. Bill, George and Arthur had all suffered terrible injuries. While the war against Voldemort was going on, they were able to put aside the damage that they had suffered, but now that normal life had returned, the trauma reasserted itself. Each was prone to sudden outbursts, long silences and withdrawal. Arthur sometimes seemed very old, and Bill, savaged by the werewolf Fenrir Greyback, sometimes seemed almost wolfish himself. There was also the breech with Percy Weasley, who had taken the wrong side, right up until the final battle. He'd returned, and apologised, but the quarrel had been deeply hurtful to the whole family.

None of this mattered, though, nearly as much as the death of Fred Weasley. He'd been George Weasley's twin. They had been, as Wizard twins tended to be, completely identical, until George had lost an ear. Their own family often found it difficult to tell them apart. Sometimes Harry thought to himself that it was merciful that George had a visible sign to separate him from his brother. If Molly and Arthur Weasley hadn't known which of their children had died, it might have been unbearable for them.

The Weasley family, normally so lively, so busy, were sad and quiet. When Harry had first stayed with the Weasleys, he'd found it difficult to keep up with the interactions of so many different people, each asserting his and her identity in a way quite unknown in the house on Privet Drive where Harry had spent his early childhood. The Dursleys were always stiffly polite to each other, except when Dudley had had a tantrum. His aunt and uncle stored up their grudges against each other until they had a pretext to take it out on Harry. Dudley didn't wait for a pretext.

For a while, it had seemed to Harry as if the Weasleys hated each other. They fought incessantly, over trivial things and serious. After a while, Harry came to realise how much they all cared about and depended on each other, and decided that the quarrels weren't real or serious. Then, a while later still, he had come to realise that the quarrels were genuine, that the anger was real, but that it went hand in hand with the love they all felt.

Harry had learned about families from the Weasleys. The tepid affection of his aunt and uncle for each other, and their desperate longing for the success of their mediocre, unpleasant son, was the only example that he'd had. The Weasleys showed him how families were meant to be.

There were no quarrels any more. Each of the family was trying hard to avoid upsetting the others. There was no teasing, few jokes.

Harry felt especially sorry for Percy. When he'd been at school, Percy had been pompous and pretentious, and his brothers had teased him unmercifully. Then Percy had gone to work at the Ministry of Magic, and had sided with the Minister against Harry, Professor Dumbledore and his own family. He had only reconciled at the very last. Percy and Fred were fighting side by side when Fred died.

Harry couldn't remember a time when the family weren't teasing Percy. Now it was completely different. They were all kind to him, and nobody mentioned the quarrel. Nobody was behaving naturally, and the kindness seemed to make them all more distant rather than closer. George seemed constantly on the verge of making fun of Percy, and Percy of reprimanding George, but it never quite happened.

What Harry found strangest was his relationship with Ginny. Ginny was Harry's girlfriend, which Harry was finding wonderful, terrifying and frustrating. Ginny was always strong and supportive with her family. Though she was the youngest, she was always the one who kept people going. When there was a silence, she would start a conversation. When people didn't know what to do, she'd suggest de-gnoming the garden or washing the dishes. She was the first to start talking about Fred, when everyone else avoided the subject. She made everyone keep to the normal patterns of their lives.

With Harry, it was different. She seemed to save up her misery and terror and sorrow for when they were together. Also her anger. Sometimes she seemed to turn on him for no reason, furious over trivialities. Harry was beginning to wonder if she was regretting their relationship, but unable to break it off.

He shook his head and got up. Time to talk about it, he thought. He'd seen his aunt and uncle's marriage at close quarters for many years. Each of them would tiptoe around the other, until they seemed like two strangers in the same house. He wouldn't let that happen to himself and Ginny. There was no point in hiding from their problems.

When he went downstairs he was surprised to see nobody in the kitchen but Ginny. He felt suddenly, absurdly shy.

She turned to him and beamed. "Harry! Didn't lie in, then?"

He shook his head. "I can never sleep in on a day off. Has your dad gone?"

Ginny nodded. "He left early. He says that there seems to be more to do now than ever. He says he might need to interrogate Umbridge again just to find out just what she did when she was effectively running the place. He says she did more damage than Voldemort."

Funny how more and more people felt able to say "Voldemort" now. "He who must not be named" was almost a quaint tradition, a piece of good manners. The fear was gone.

"And your mum?"

"She's gone down to the village."

"The Muggle village? Does she do that?" Harry sat down at the table.

"She used to go down every now and again. This is Devon, you know. They don't notice wizards and witches here. The Muggles look strange enough." Ginny moved around behind Harry. "She goes down more often now. She talks to the vicar. About everything that happened."

"Can she do that?" said Harry, surprised. "Tell a Muggle about magic?"

Ginny leaned in to Harry and hugged him around his neck. Her red hair dangled in front of his eyes. "Oh, Harry, nothing important that happened has anything to do with magic. She just tells him about Fred dying, and Percy, and the rest of it. He doesn't question it. I think he thinks we're from central Europe."

She hugged him tighter. "Harry – I'm sorry. I think I've been awful to you, these last months."

"Awful? You've been wonderful! This has been the happiest… well, no, that sounds terrible. It's been a sad time. But being with you, every day… that's been wonderful."

Ginny pressed her cheek against Harry's. "I'm glad. Why would I want you to be sad? None of us want to be sad. It's so hard sometimes. We've had a beating, this family. A hard beating. I've been taking it out on you."

Harry reached up and took Ginny's hands in his. "I thought you were getting tired of me. I thought you were getting to know what kind of person I was, and didn't like it."

Ginny laughed. "You can't really have thought that, Harry. You're the one I've been leaning on. You've been so strong."

"Strong?" Harry started to shake his head, but couldn't move in Ginny's grip. "I'm not strong, not a bit. I wake up shaking some nights."

Ginny squeezed tighter. "You don't know how strong you are. Harry, you and Ron and Hermione left this house, three teenagers and you defeated Voldemort, and all his followers. You think you're weak because you're frightened – but you do it anyway."

Harry smiled and peered up at Ginny. "Maybe I am a bit brave. I asked you out, didn't I."

"Did you? I can't remember. I have a feeling that I made most of the running."

Harry shook his head. "I was a bit hopeless."

Ginny laughed. "You kept saving the world, and winning Quidditch matches, and never even noticed all the girls following you around."

"Hey – I went out with Cho, didn't I?"

Ginny shook her head. "Oh dear, Harry. The great Cho disaster. The whole school used to talk about that one in hushed voices."

"Oh, come on? The whole school? I didn't think anyone noticed… oh, hello, Ron."

Ron Weasley stumbled into the kitchen yawning and stretching. He was wearing his pyjamas under a bright maroon dressing gown, and still looked half asleep. He mumbled an incoherent greeting.

Ginny turned and nodded. "Just as well, really. I was a bit worried about Cho. A good thing you made such a mess of it. Honestly, Harry, how did you do it? Even Ron ended up with a girlfriend."

Ron sat down suddenly and put his head in his hands. He made a muffled noise.

"Ron? Are you all right?" said Ginny. "Oh, Ron, I'm sorry. I forgot. Poor Lavender." She ran over to her brother and gave him a hug.

Ron wiped his sleeve across his eyes. "It's all right. It's just… I'd forgotten about her, you see. With everything else that happened."

Harry sat down. "Yeah, I know. Still – she was in our class all the time we were at school. She was in Hermione's dormitory. If nobody else had…" He fell silent.

"She used to annoy me," said Ron, softly. "Then I fancied her. Then we went out, and she used to _really_ annoy me. She joined Dumbledore's Army. What was she doing in Dumbledore's Army, Harry? She was hopeless."

"Oh, come on," said Harry. "She wasn't that bad. She knew magic all right."

"She knew divination," said Ron. "Part of the Trelawney fan club. Defence against the Dark Arts, though – do you remember her trying to cast a Patronus?"

Harry winced. "I take your point. She never managed it. Never made much of a fist of anything."

"She still stood up with the rest of us at the end, though," said Ron. "Trying to fight… I don't think she ever understood that there would be someone who'd actually try to kill her. It was never… real to her. You, now…" he turned to Ginny. "you were up for it right from the start, in the Department of Mysteries. Same with Hermione. Even Neville and Luna got it."

"We should have sent her away," said Harry, dully. "She never had a chance, did she?"

"She wouldn't have let you," said Ginny. "It was the end, one way or another. How could she have left us?"

"We could have made her," said Harry. "But… there was no time."

"I saw her," said Ron. "I noticed her, trying to look tough, nearly crying. I might have said something, but I was worried about making Hermione jealous. Isn't that silly?"

Ginny shook her head. "I wouldn't let Harry go to the Ravenclaw common room with Cho. I could just imagine them…"

"I wouldn't!" interjected Harry.

"Of course you wouldn't – but we all thought we were going to die," said Ginny.

"Eh? I didn't," said Ron, blankly.

"Well, you should have. Why didn't you?" asked Ginny.

"Dunno. I got used to Harry doing something and it all being all right, I suppose. He did, and it was. Except for Fred, and Lavender, and the rest." He suddenly banged the table. "I should have killed him. Fenrir. He was lying there, unconscious. I could have killed him then."

Harry leaned forward. "Ron – we went through this with Dolohov. We can't be like them. They were killers. We aren't that."

Ron shook his head. "Harry – you don't get it. Dolohov, Malfoy, all those Death Eaters – they're just people, gone wrong. They could even go right, if they wanted. Fenrir Greyback – he's something else. He's taken his animal part and his human part and made a monster. He's a thing now."

"Ron, you still can't…" Ginny tried to speak but Ron carried on.

"Ever noticed how afraid they all were? Little Malfoy, big Malfoy? Snape? Even Bellatrix? They were all scared of big bad Voldemort. And he was scared of you, Harry. All driven by fear. All except the wolf. He didn't care. He really didn't. I fought him, Harry. It was all the same to him whether he killed me or I killed him. He just wanted to cause pain."

They were silent. Harry wanted to argue, but couldn't help remembering Fenrir asking for a piece of Hermione, as if she were a rare steak.

"Tell me I'm wrong, Harry. Tell me there's any way the world is better because I didn't cut his throat when I had the chance."

"We could have killed Dolohov. If we'd done it, Lupin might be alive," said Harry quietly.

"He killed my uncles, as well. He nearly killed Hermione. He's still human, Harry. I'd gladly see him dead, but I'm glad we didn't kill him. And he's in Azkaban. Flitwick smashed him. He's done. He won't hurt anyone again."

Harry nodded, but he couldn't help thinking about the many wizards who had escaped from the supposedly secure prison.

"Me and Neville – we _battered_ Fenrir. Us and Trelawney. He was crippled. Yet he still managed to crawl away. He was back fighting us again! He's gone beyond a normal werewolf. He's a bundle of filthy appetites. He's out there somewhere, and if he's out there, he's killing still. I could have stopped it."

Ginny placed her hand over Ron's. "Ron – do you know where Mum is?"

"Eh?" Ron thought for a minute. "Talking to that Muggle vicar, I suppose."

"Do you know why?"

"Why?" Ron gave a mirthless laugh. "There's enough for her to talk about, I suppose. Fred died just over a year ago."

Ginny shook her head. "Mum hasn't gotten over Fred. That, and Bill, and George, and Dad. Her brothers. She leans on us for that, though. She goes to the vicar to talk about Bellatrix."

"Bellatrix!" yelled Ron. "Why would Mum care about that evil cow Bellatrix bloody Lestrange!"

Ginny stood up and leaned over the table. "Because she _killed_ her, Ron. She killed another person. Even if it's the worst of the Death Eaters, as bad as Voldemort himself. She still killed a human being, and it's shattered her."

Harry stared at Ginny. "But… she had no choice. They were duelling, and Bellatrix would have killed her, and you, and…"

"Harry – I know. _She_ knows. It doesn't matter. It's the heaviest burden she has. She'll never be free of it. Would you want that, Ron?"

Ron sat silently for nearly a minute. "No. I wouldn't. I'd still do it, though. Same as Mum did. If it wrecked me, then so be it. Harry had to take on his burdens. Why should I get off scot free?"

He turned to Harry with an intense stare. "Harry – you're an Auror. You're looking for him, aren't you?"

Harry nodded. "I'm mostly training – but I've talked to people. He's one of our main targets. He hasn't been killing, though. We'd know, whether it was Wizards or Muggles. The way he does it…" Harry grimaced.

Ron looked at Ginny. "Mum's torn up about killing Bellatrix? Well, I feel the same way about not killing Fenrir. When he kills again – and he will – I'll feel like it's my fault. I want him caught. Killed. Stopped forever."

The three sat quietly. Harry reached out and squeezed Ginny's hand. Harry was used to feeling damaged himself. The pain of losing his parents had been a part of him since he was a baby. He wasn't used to his friends suffering in the same way.

They jumped suddenly at the sound of the back door opening. Molly Weasley walked in carrying a basket of groceries. Ginny rushed over and gave her a hug.

"Dear me, Ginny, what was that in aid of? Put these away please. Ron, aren't you dressed yet? Good morning Harry, dear. Put the kettle on, will you?" As always, when Mrs Weasley walked into a room, there was instant bustle and activity.

Ron started towards the door but Mrs Weasley called him back. "If you aren't dressed yet then you can wait another few minutes. Put the porridge on. I have fresh strawberries I bought from Mr Watkins."

"Who's Mr Watkins?" asked Ron.

"Dear me, Ron, he's been farming half a mile away since before you were born. I don't think you boys notice anything." Mrs Weasley shook her head as she directed bowls, cups and spoons out of the dresser with a wave of her wand. "A day off, Harry dear?"

Harry nodded. "We had that training exercise on Brecon Beacons the weekend before last, and they gave days off in lieu."

"Rufus Scrimgeour would never have done that. I think that Kingsley Shacklebolt has let things go soft," said Mrs Weasley, deftly placing four settings at the table.

"I don't know how he does both jobs," mumbled Ron, standing at the stove.

"He has to, though," said Ginny. "They've so much work to do and they don't have the people. Alastor Moody could have done the job, if he'd…" Her voice tailed off.

"Ron, I do wish you'd let someone _talk_ to Kingsley for you. Here, let me do that. You'd be a wonderful Auror, and I'm sure he would realise that if we just…"

"Mum!" interrupted Ron, as his mother removed the porridge pot from his grasp. "I told you. I put in the application, and if they want to give me the job, then great. If they don't – I don't want to get it because I can use influence. That's… well, it feels like something the Malfoys would do."

Harry started to speak but Ron continued. "Harry, I know you never asked for any special treatment either. You applied for the job, and that was it."

"I'm not qualified though," said Harry.

The three Weasleys snorted in unison. "For heaven's sake, Harry. You defeated Voldemort in single combat. I think that's more important than passing your NEWT's," said Ginny.

"That Neville Longbottom used all the influence his grandmother could put together," said Mrs Weasley.

"Yeah, well, that's Neville," said Ron. "Anyway, his family have been Aurors for years. None of us have been, have they?"

"Well, no," said Mrs Weasley slowly. "Although your father has been working in his department for…"

"Not the same, Mum. Different job," said Ron.

"Well, it should count for something!" snapped Mrs Weasley. "The sacrifices that man has made! Sometimes I don't see him from one end of the week to the other."

She banged on the table, and a mug jumped off and shattered on the floor.

"Now look, Ron! Oh, for heaven's sake. I'm going to get my slippers on. Clean up the mess."

They stared after her as she stalked out of the kitchen. "We never used to break things," said Ron, reflectively.

"That's because Mum always used _Arresto Momentum_ to catch them while they were falling," said Ginny.

"Why doesn't she use it now?" asked Ron.

"Don't you know? That's the final spell she used to stop Bellatrix's heart. She can't bear to use it any more. I used it a couple of weeks ago and she burst into tears and told me. _Reparo._ "

A few moments later Mrs Weasley returned to the kitchen in her slippers. She was smiling, but her eyes were slightly too bright.

"You made the tea, dear? Thank you. Sorry to keep going on at you, Ron, you know how I worry." They sat down together.


	4. 04 - Gringotts

Gringotts

Hermione Granger paced nervously outside the huge front door of Gringotts, the Wizarding bank run by Goblins. Her eyes kept flicking to the message engraved there. "Thief… beware…"

The last time she had visited Gringotts, it was as a thief. She was there to steal a cup from the vault of Bellatrix Lestrange. The break-in had been… messy. The doors had been repaired, but the damage caused when the dragon forced its way through was still visible.

She checked the time. He had warned her not to enter too soon, but it was now eleven o'clock. She clutched her bag tightly and strode through the battered doors.

The goblin guards inspected her closely. They insisted she empty the bag, but she had little in it. They looked curiously at her Oyster card, but eventually permitted her to proceed.

She walked slowly to the main desk. "My… my name is Hermione Granger. I have an appointment."

The goblin slowly raised its head and stared at her for several seconds. When it spoke, its voice creaked and rustled. "You are expected. Ragnok will talk to you, soon." It lowered its head and continued to scribble with a quill in a huge ledger. Hermione could only see the tip of the feather fluttering back and forth.

She wondered whether she was expected to go somewhere, but the goblin had given no indication as to what she should do. Wizards and goblins continued to traverse the hall, but nobody looked at her.

Suddenly a voice came from behind her, unpleasantly close to her ear. "Granger? I am Ragnok. Follow me."

He scuttled through the crowd and she scampered after him, almost losing him among dozens of similar scurrying goblins. He reached an almost invisible door set in a wooden panel which he opened and stepped through. She pressed past a gesticulating witch and followed him.

The room was long and thin – almost more like a corridor. Unlike the opulent marble and polished wood of the entrance hall, the walls were of coarse-hewn stone. The ceiling was high. At the far end was another door, similar to the one by which they had entered. The room was cold, and Hermione could see her breath.

"This is my office," said Ragnok. There was no desk, no chairs. Ragnok had no ledger with him.

"I… I'd like to withdraw some items from my vault," said Hermione.

Ragnok laughed coldly. "Did you read the warning at the entrance to Gringotts, Granger? The punishment we promise to those who steal from the goblins?"

"I read it," said Hermione, her voice a whisper.

"You broke into the Lestrange vault. We do not yet entirely know how. Griphook knew, but Griphook is dead. Dead along with many other goblins, killed in your little adventure. A dragon that was a safeguard for two hundred years is lost, perhaps forever. Damage of millions of Galleons, still not wholly repaired. What did you think the consequences would be, Granger?"

"The cup… it was a Horcrux! It was part of Voldemort's soul!"

Ragnok pointed at her, a great thick nail curving over the end of the gnarled index finger. "You will not leave here, Granger. Your life will be long, and hard, and every minute you will spend repaying the goblins for what you have done."

Hermione grabbed for her wand, but it was gone. When she was being searched it must have been taken, somehow. She turned to the door but it had vanished, replaced by unyielding stone.

Ragnok stepped towards her, a claw-like hand outstretched. "I had expected to spend many months finding you – you, and your companions. It has been a convenience that you came here. We will make an allowance for that. Bagman was a more difficult quarry."

Hermione's back was pressed against the wall where the door had been. _He promised,_ she thought. _He said it would be all right._

There was a sudden loud creaking noise from the far end of the room. The other door was opening. A figure stepped through - the familiar form of Bill Weasley, the scars on his face visible from the far side of the room, still wearing his earring and dragon-hide boots.

"What do you want, Weasley?" said Ragnok. He sounded angry, but goblins usually did.

"We are to bring Granger to _him_ ," said Bill.

"On what authority?" Yes, Ragnok was definitely getting angrier.

Bill pulled a scroll from his pocket. "The signatures of five directors. Three is sufficient, I believe?"

Ragnok snatched the scroll from his hand and scanned it quickly, then threw it aside. "Very well, then. It may not be a mercy to her, though."

He walked to the wall and tapped a curious pattern on the stone. There was a hideous creaking noise and a great slab swung aside, revealing a spiral staircase heading downwards.

"You first, Weasley. Then Granger. I will follow," said Ragnok.

Bill stepped into the doorway and Hermione after him. The steps were narrow, and even keeping to the outside, Hermione's feet extended over the edge. She tried to step sideways, but found herself losing her balance.

"Move quickly, but don't run," said Bill. "If you fall, I might not be able to catch you."

She found that if she kept to a steady rhythm she could just keep up. Bill was moving quickly, and she feared he would get away from her, leaving her with the goblin. He did not speak, but she could hear his breathing and his claw-like fingernails scraping against the stone. But Bill waited for her when he was too far ahead to be seen.

The stairs continued on and on. The further down they went, the darker it became, though the darkness was never absolute. There was a faint glow, seeming to come from the stones themselves. Finally the stair came to an end, in a tiny chamber.

"We are below the vaults, now," said Bill. "This is the deepest that the goblins have delved – and nobody has dug deeper than the goblins. This pit was here before the first wizards came to England. Before the first men."

"Will you tell her all our secrets?" snapped Ragnok. "Open the passage!"

"Turn away, Her," said Bill. Hermione turned her back and was surprised to see Ragnok turn his as well. She could hear Bill tapping on the stone. "Now you," he said. Ragnok exchanged places with him. They stood looking up the stairs while Ragnok tapped in a different pattern.

"Not long now," said Bill.

"Where are we going?" whispered Hermione.

"Gringott's grave," said Bill.

The tapping ceased and Bill turned, pulling Hermione around by her shoulder.

"I will lead," said Ragnok, stepping into a gap that had opened in the chamber wall opposite the foot of the stairs.

At first Hermione thought the gap had not fully opened. It was barely a foot wide, and a little over five feet high. The goblin was scurrying into it, however, somehow sliding sideways.

She hesitated. The passage was completely unlit, and she couldn't tell how far it extended – or even if it narrowed further down. More than that, she felt a sense of dread that hadn't been present even while she'd been descending the never-ending stairs.

"Come on, Her," said Bill. "Can't be helped. I'll be right behind you."

She squeezed into the gap and inched along sideways. It was slow and uncomfortable, but she was able to keep moving. The goblin was far ahead, invisible in the total darkness, but she could hear scraping against the stone.

After a while, she started to think she would never get out. I'm going around in circles, she thought. I'll just keep going around and around and it will get narrower and narrower, and … I'll just lie down for a moment, and shut my eyes.

Her legs trembled and sagged under her, but her knees jammed against the opposite wall. She was about to topple sideways when she felt Bill's grasp on her arm, just above the elbow.

"Can't stop, Her. Can't go back. Take a deep breath and keep going. Not long, now."

She nodded, and stood upright. Step by step she moved along, her legs aching with the unnatural motion. She was relieved to find that after a while longer, the passage opened out.

Bill grasped her again. "Careful, Her. The edge is close."

She looked carefully at the ground. There was very little light, but just enough to see that they were standing on a ledge, overlooking a pit.

"How deep?" she asked. Her voice echoed for the first time. She looked up, but couldn't see a roof.

The goblin chuckled nastily from a dark corner. "Throw in a stone, Granger. Then follow me."

She looked on the ground but it was solid flagstones. "There," said Bill, pointing to the right. There was a small heap of pebbles.

She picked one up and tossed it in. There was no sound.

"Hurry," said the goblin. He started to move across the chasm.

The bridge was barely worthy of the name. It was a single strand of thick rope, above which was a slightly thinner strand. The goblin was inching rapidly across, his feet on the lower rope, holding tightly to the upper.

"Best get it over with," said Bill quietly.

She grasped the upper rope tightly with her right hand, and placed her right foot on the lower rope. If this were a foot above the ground, it would be easy, she thought, and started to move across.

"Just keep moving," said Bill.

She was almost at the other side when she heard a faint splash from below. How deep? she thought, and suddenly her left foot had slipped from the rope and she found herself swaying backwards. She held on grimly until the swaying had stopped, and then carefully placed her foot back on the rope. She was still dangling backwards, but only had a few more inches before safety. She moved her foot to the right, and then dragged her hands, one after the other, along the rope. Then the other foot, and suddenly she was on the other side.

She moved quickly to stand tight to the wall, as far as possible from that immense gulf. Bill was quickly beside her. They were on a ledge about four feet deep, facing another solid wall. "Well done," he said. "That's the worst bit."

The goblin was tapping at the wall. "You now, Weasley," he said. Bill went over and tapped a different pattern as Ragnok turned away. A gap opened, and bright light streamed out. The goblin stepped in, and Hermione followed.

They were in a brightly lit, broad passageway. It seemed to be formed in perfectly carved marble, with elegant arches supported by mighty columns. So smooth was the marble that Hermione could see her reflection in it. Her face looked strained. The passage extended for a considerable distance, but it was wide and level and well-lit from some unknown source. After walking for about a mile, doors began to appear on either side – made from some kind of shining metal. As they walked past, Hermione could see endless reflections of herself between the mirrored surfaces, like an army on the march, anxious, but determined. There were goblin runes inscribed on the metal, writing that she did not know how to decipher. Each door had a different inscription.

Ragnok scurried ahead, examining the runes. He was nervous now. Several times he scampered back to re-examine a door he'd already looked at.

They walked on, seemingly endlessly. Once Hermione started to ask Bill when they would reach their destination, but he shook his head and held a finger to his lips.

Finally, Ragnok stopped outside a door. "Together, then, Weasley," he said.

Unlike the tappings and knockings at the other doors, this time Bill and the goblin worked in unison, gently pressing and touching, precisely tracing their fingertips with exact precision. The pattern was complex and beautiful in its intricacy.

They stepped back together and the smooth even surface suddenly split apart into metal rods that slowly sank into all four sides of the door. The chamber beyond was carved out of the rock, quite crudely. It was narrow, not extending as far as the other doors on either side. There must be hundreds, thousands of chambers like this, thought Hermione.

The chamber was empty apart from a single large misshapen rock in the middle of the floor, and lying next to it, a thick steel bar, roughly forged, about five feet long.

"You do it, Weasley," said Ragnok.

Bill removed his jacket and handed it to Hermione, and rolled up his sleeves. Then he picked up the steel rod and gave the rock a huge blow. The rod bounced violently off the rock and rang loudly. Hermione stepped back. Again and again Bill battered at the rock, until shards began to fall off it. The noise was almost unbearable.

Suddenly a sound came, barely audible above the noise of the vibrating rod. It took a moment for Hermione to recognise it as a voice. It was like goblin speech, and yet far more rasping and inhuman – indeed, unlike a sound a living creature would make.

"Enough," it said. Bill slowly lowered the bar to the floor. There was a violent scraping noise, and the rock slowly began to separate. Breaks appeared at various points, and suddenly it seemed to open up into a shape like a badly carved statue of a goblin. It stood erect, with a red glow coming from where the eyes would be, twin recesses in a shapeless lump of a head.

It spoke again, in a voice that sounded like stones grinding together. "I am Gringott, Granger. I am the manager of this bank. Your friend has awoken me, on your account. I do not like to be wakened."

"Gringott, this is the girl who…" began Ragnok.

"I know who she is. Ragnok? Yes, the boy Ragnok. Be silent." Gringott moved forward slowly, swaying from side to side. Bill Weasley stood aside. Gringott stopped inches away from Hermione and stared at her.

"You know what you did, Granger. What expiation can you make?" Hermione had thought she had been afraid of Ragnok, but she realised that she was more frightened now than she had ever been in her life.

"The cup… the cup was…" she began, and paused, unable to speak. She started again. "The cup that we took was a Horcrux. It contained a part of Lord Voldemort's soul. We destroyed it." Her voice was clear and defiant. "We defeated Lord Voldemort. He would have enslaved you, taken this bank and everything you own."

The hole where Gringott's mouth would be slowly curved into a parody of a grin. "He would not have enslaved us. We are not _elves_." His voice as he said the last word dripped with gravelly contempt. "But there would have been… problems."

"Gringott, the reputation of the bank has been tarnished forever by this human witch!" Ragnar's voice was high and excited.

Bill Weasley spoke, calmly and levelly. "If this item had been retained, then Lord Voldemort would have won. He would have ruled over us all, wizard, Muggle and goblin alike. If the bank had given up the cup to be destroyed…"

"…that would have been a breach of our trust," continued Gringott. "We have never, since I founded the bank, given any item to anyone but the depositor. Ha. Ha. Ha." It took Hermione some seconds to realise that the horrible sound Gringott was making was laughter.

"Ragnok." Somehow Gringott managed to convey anger and contempt in that grotesque, grinding voice. "You were asked, by this human…" He paused.

"Weasley, Gringott," said Bill.

"This Weasley… you were asked to mediate an alliance between goblins and Dumbledore's supporters, against Lord Voldemort. Is this so?"

"Yes, Gringott." Ragnar's voice mixed fear and defiance. "I refused."

"You were right to do so. When wizards make war on each other, it ends, eventually. Then all they would remember is what we goblins did. All would blame us. We must be neutral in such matters."

"But Voldemort would have…" began Hermione.

"Be silent, Granger," said Gringott. "I am aware of what Voldemort would have done. I was awakened six times due to his actions. Voldemort offered us _wands_! And yet we did not align ourselves with him. We did not wish Voldemort to succeed, but we would not wage open war. Ragnok! Is that not correct?"

"Yes," said Ragnok, sullenly.

"Granger! This cup – Helga Hufflepuff's cup – contained a portion of Voldemort's soul. You wished to destroy it. Is that correct?"

"Yes, Gringott," said Hermione.

"It seems that the only way to defeat our enemy without breaking our bond was for this cup to be stolen. Is that correct, Weasley?" He looked up at Bill.

Bill nodded. "Yes, Gringott. That appears to be the case."

He turned to Hermione. "It may be that you had assistance from some renegade goblin?" Hermione opened her mouth to answer but Bill shook his head at her.

"It seems we can never know," continued Gringott. "Griphook might have known, but he is dead. So, the cup that had to be destroyed was destroyed, and the bank has not betrayed its trust."

"The least bad outcome," murmured Bill.

"But… but… the damage! The dragon! The deaths!" spluttered Ragnok.

"The damage to the building has been repaired. It is damage to the reputation of the bank that concerns me. We will find the dragon and return him to his appointed task, or, if not, there are other dragons. Other beasts. The deaths were inflicted by Voldemort. This girl, and her friends, have avenged them." Gringott slowly turned to Ragnok, creaking like a millstone.

"Ragnok, return Granger's property to her, and close her account. Granger, you are not welcome here again. Inform your friend Potter that his vault will be emptied and the contents sent to him. Weasley, your brother…"

"Ron doesn't have an account on his own behalf," said Bill smoothly.

"Nor will he in future. Escort Granger from the premises," said Gringott, pointing to the doorway. "Ragnok will remain here, and we will discuss how Lord Voldemort attacked the bank, killing many goblins. How Bellatrix Lestrange took her own cup from her own vault, and how it was destroyed by the dragon which drove Voldemort away. How there was no theft from Gringott's. There has never been, and never will be."

Bill took Hermione by the elbow and gestured to the door. They had almost reached it when Ragnok called after them.

"Weasley. Remember what you need to do."

Bill's shoulders tensed.

"It is necessary, Weasley. There will be no further consequences. We must be safe."

Bill nodded and stepped into the corridor.

"Granger?" Gringott called.

"Yes?" said Hermione, cautiously.

"Why did you not threaten us with your powerful friends? The Order, the Minister?"

"I don't respond well to threats," said Hermione flatly. "I thought Goblins would be the same."

She stepped after Bill into the corridor.

"Potter promised to return the sword of Gryffindor!" Ragnok shouted after them.

"Harry did return it," Hermione said. "The goblins lost it again." Shining metal bars emerged from the edges of the door frame to make a seamless reflective surface.

"Bill? What did he mean? What do you have to do?"

Bill started to walk down the corridor. "Well, it's up to you, really. But they can't have you giving your version of events – the correct version. And this," he gestured around him, "this is not to be talked about."

"I… I wouldn't say anything..." said Hermione, her heart sinking.

"Goblins aren't a trusting lot, Hermione. It's a rule that anyone not a member of the bank – even other goblins – who see the goblin tombs – have to be prevented from talking about it. In the past… well, let's say that things are a bit more civilised now."

"What are the options?" said Hermione, scurrying to keep up with Bill's long strides.

Well, there's the memory option," said Bill. "We draw out the memory and replace it with another version."

Hermione thought of the puzzled expression on her mother's face, as she struggled to recognise her only daughter. "I… I don't think I'd like that."

"As I say, it's your choice. The alternative is a variation on Confundus. Whenever you talk about this place, or the break-in, your words will become muddled. You'll remember it, but you won't be able to communicate about it in any way."

"And is there another option?" she asked.

"Yes," he said grimly. "And they would use it."

"Oh," she said. "I think I prefer Confundus. I've never read about that version. Where does the spell come from?"

"It's goblin magic," said Bill. "They're obsessed with secrecy and privacy."

"I'd have liked to study goblin magic," she said wistfully. "That won't happen now."

The corridor ended in a great open chamber, from which six other, identical corridors branched off. In the centre of the room was a semi-circular wall, about six feet in diameter. Just in front of it there was a narrow metal pole. Looking closely, she could see that it was in the form of a screw. There was a circular stone about six inches thick, resting on the floor, into the middle of which the metal pole fitted. Beside the wall dangled a thin rope.

"Just step on the stone," said Bill. "Keep your arms and legs in tight, but don't touch the screw."

She stepped carefully onto the stone. Bill tugged once on the rope. After a few seconds, the screw started to turn. The stone had a small stub protruding into the wall, which prevented it rotating, so the screw forced it up. She found herself rising upwards.

In a few seconds, she had reached the roof of the chamber, and was now completely enclosed in a circular tube, the walls of which were passing by quite quickly now. She stood perfectly still, the walls and the screw only inches away, hoping that there was no loose clothing that might get caught in the mechanism.

There was no noise at all as stone ground against stone and metal. Goblin work, she thought. So precise.

After a few minutes, her legs began to cramp, and she longed to be able to lean against something. No chair, nothing to hold on to – that's goblins too, she thought. A single slip and I'd be crushed. Serve her right, they'd think.

Quite suddenly she found herself passing through an opening into a large, cluttered room. The stone on which she was standing fitted perfectly into the floor. A goblin stood at a console of switches and levers. "Step away," he said curtly.

She moved across to the corner of the room. There was a troll in a metal cage, standing on a treadmill. The goblin pulled a lever, and the troll began to trot. The stone disappeared downwards, leaving a hole in the floor.

"Wait there," said the goblin. He ignored her as the troll continued to trot on the treadmill for some minutes. Then there was a loud click, and the troll stopped. The goblin pulled another lever and waited. After a few seconds a bell tinkled, barely audibly. The goblin gestured and the troll began to trot again, more slowly now.

Hermione stared dully around the room. How long had she been under the ground? It could have been hours, or days. She would not have been surprised to be told that she'd been gone a month.

Eventually Bill's head appeared through the hole in the floor. He walked briskly across to her. "Let's get your stuff," he said.

Bill led them to a counter, where a pile of papers was neatly stacked. A goblin watched silently as Hermione packed them into her bag.

"You didn't keep a lot here," he said.

"I don't have much wizard money, until I can get a job."

"Nothing very important to collect, then," said Bill.

She shook her head. "Something very important," she said. She took two golden vials and very carefully placed them in her pocket.

"Would you like a coffee?" asked Bill, as they walked to the main door of the bank.

"A coffee?" she asked, surprised. "In a Muggle place?"

He grinned. "Lately I'm mostly involved with exchange with Muggle currency. I've been regularly visiting Muggle shops and restaurants just for the practice. I even get an allowance. The goblins are strict, but they aren't mean. So, the coffees are on me."

The goblins at the door gave Hermione only a cursory examination, and didn't check Bill at all. However, when Hermione looked for her wand, she found it in its holder, where it had been when she entered.

They sat quietly for a while in the café, five minutes' walk from the bank. Hermione had a small cake with her coffee, and Bill had a pile of beef and ham sandwiches. He pulled the meat out of the bread and chewed it quickly.

Hermione spoke first. "Is that the actual Gringott? I thought he must be dead. I didn't think goblins lived that long."

Bill drummed his fingers on the table. "Well, in a sense, he is dead. Goblins don't die like humans, unless something kills them. It's a lengthy process. Gringott has 'returned to the stone' as they call it. At some stage he'll fully merge into the rock. I don't totally understand it. I know a lot about how the bank works, but goblins…" He shook his head.

"I thought I wouldn't get out of there," she confessed. "I know you said…"

"Goblins are hard. Very hard. But fair. You saved them – maybe even more than the wizards and Muggles. Voldemort and his kind hated all the independent creatures, and goblins, who live among us, worst of all. Gringott knew this." He took a sip of his coffee.

"I'm surprised that they didn't blame you for what Ron did," she said.

"Goblins don't think like that," said Bill. "They don't recognise families. That's why they get so annoyed when their artefacts are passed down when the original owner dies. They know that Ron and I share a name – that he's my brother - but they've no concept that I might be to blame for what he does."

"I'm glad that we didn't lose you your job," she said.

He shook his head. "Far from it. Talking to you about Muggle money and how it all works has really boosted my career. There was a whole market for exchanging money that we just weren't exploiting. What do you call those magic boxes that dispense gold?"

Hermione thought for a moment. "ATM's?" she asked.

"That's it. I'm leading a team that's developing a wizarding version. Imagine not having to visit your vault every time you want some cash!"

As Bill talked on about his job, Hermione couldn't help thinking that he sounded a little like his brother Percy. A cool, laid back, a slightly flashy version, perhaps. She smiled. Her fondness for the Weasleys was as much for their few flaws as their many virtues, now.

"How's Fleur?" she asked, when Bill's flow of shop-talk was temporarily interrupted.

"Fleur should be along shortly," said Bill.

"Oh, that's nice," said Hermione, with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. Bill's wife Fleur was not hugely popular with the rest of the Weasley family, and Hermione had never liked her.

However, Fleur had supported Bill when he'd been seriously injured by Fenrir Greyback, and married him even when there was a risk of him becoming a werewolf. She had fought bravely against Voldemort, and even disguised herself as Harry Potter, putting herself into grave peril.

Irritatingly, she seemed to be the one person who was able to snap Molly Weasley out of her misery. They didn't talk much, but somehow Molly was always bustling after Fleur to make sure she was comfortable. Harry and Hermione were normally left to fend for themselves. Indeed, Molly had on a number of occasions asked Hermione to fetch Fleur a cup of tea, or to ensure that she had enough pillows.

Even when Fleur made the horribly embarrassing blunder of forgetting that it was Fred, not George Weasley who had died, Molly had brushed it aside. Though Molly had originally disliked Fleur as much as the rest of the family, Fleur's loyalty to Bill had changed her view completely.

"Hadn't you better do the charm before she gets here?" asked Hermione. "I assume that she's not allowed to know about…"

"Oh, they've done the charm already," said Bill. "On the way out, when they returned your wand. It should be working by now. Ah, there she is. Over here, Fleur!" He stood up and waved.

"Bill! What do you mean, you've done it already? I wanted to talk about it… hello, Fleur," said Hermione dolefully as Fleur Weasley sat down at their table.

"'ermione! So nice to see you! You 'ave done sumsing wiz your 'air?" Fleur stared hard at Hermione for a second. "No, I sink not," she said, disappointedly. Hermione gritted her teeth.

"How are you, Fleur? Lovely to see you," she said, trying to mean it. As Fleur had walked across the room, men and women (and an eleven-year-old boy) had all turned their heads to look at her. Hermione found Fleur trying even in a private setting, but in public she felt at best dowdy, and at worst invisible.

Bill made a small gesture and a cake and a cup of black coffee appeared in front of Fleur. "Hermione's been visiting the bank," he said.

"Oh? What are you doing zere?" asked Fleur.

Bill raised a hand to stop her, but it was too late. "I called in to frogspawn mendicant caramel," she said, and clapped her hands over her mouth.

Fleur clapped her hands with delight. "Bill? Did you do zis?"

"It will take a while to bed in," said Bill. "After a couple of weeks, it's only… well, private things you won't be able to talk about. And you'll be able to sense when it's kicking in and just… well, not speak. In the meantime…"

"What can I talk about?" wailed Hermione. "Can I talk about money? Yes, I can. What about numeral Dalmatian corporeal benefit squeeze? Aaah!"

Fleur had been taking a bite from her cake, but burst into laughter and spat crumbs down her front. Even then, Hermione noted sourly, she looked absolutely gorgeous.

"Bill, eet is so funny! Fred, 'e will be so jealous."

"George," said Hermione curtly. "It's not a joke. Just…" She felt a tickle at the back of her mind, and sought for different words until it disappeared. "It's just business. Work."

Bill smiled and squeezed his wife's shoulder. "I was thinking that we might visit the Burrow next week," he said. "Will you be there, Her?"

Hermione shook her head. "I have an errand to run," she said quietly. "It might take the rest of the summer."


	5. 05 - Father

Father

Eleven-year-old Alex Fyng sat alone at a table in the crowded café, nursing a Coca-Cola with a straw in it. There was an astonishingly beautiful young woman across the room who was laughing loudly. She sounded French. He tried to make himself not stare at her.

He had turned up twenty minutes early, and he'd now been sitting there for nearly an hour. This was his third drink, and he was feeling the effects. He didn't dare get up from the table though.

He felt a tickle on his neck and flinched. There was an insect of some kind on his shoulder. He leaned around and flicked it off, and suddenly saw his father standing behind him. His father sat down, then half stood and awkwardly gave Alex a quick hug.

"Alex. Good to see you. Do you want a drink, or something?"

Alex shook his head rapidly.

"Well. It's been quite a while."

Alex nodded. It had been a long time. He'd been at various times angry, then sad, then resigned. He'd almost given up on seeing his father again.

"I know what you must have thought. It's common enough. A divorce, and the dad moves on. Gradually loses touch. It's not like that, Alex. There's a reason why I haven't been able to keep contact."

Alex waited. He wanted to tell his father that it was all right – that it didn't matter – but he couldn't.

"There's someone... there's a person, a kind of person, associated with me. Closely associated with me. I'm a wizard, Alex, but I gave that up, to get away from him. Then, later on, something happened. I had to hide again. I had to leave your mother and you."

Alex's father was glancing around, nervously.

"I couldn't have him know about you, about your mother. He's a very bad man, Alex. Very bad."

"Who is he, Dad?"

His father sighed. "I didn't want… well, I suppose you're entitled. It's my dad, Alex. Your grandfather."

"But you said grandfather was dead! Both your parents were dead, before I was born!"

"Yes, I said that. I'm sorry, Alex. He'd lost contact with me, and my mother. Then my mother died. As far as I was concerned, he _was_ dead. Then I heard rumours about what he was. Something terrible."

"Was it to do with… you know who? The Death Eaters."

"It was, but also something worse than that. More horrible."

Alex couldn't imagine something worse than the Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort.

"He wouldn't hurt us, though? His own family?"

His father shook his head. "It depends what you mean, Alex. When people go bad in a particular way – sometimes they want other people to go bad with them. Sometimes… doing bad things can be worse than having bad things done to you. I know you're a good boy, Alex. You'll be a good man. I don't want anyone to threaten that. That would be as bad as…"

"I wouldn't! I mean… I know I'm not perfect, but I'd never be a Death Eater or anything like that, Dad."

His father reached across the table and grasped Alex' hand. "I know, son. It's just… you shouldn't have to encounter these things. Promise me… if anyone tries to get in touch – someone you don't know – you'll keep away."

Alex could feel the heat of his father's hand on his. It was comforting. He felt a sudden upsurge of sadness – having his father's presence reminded him of how much he'd missed him when he was absent.

"I promise, Dad. I mean… he can't have really cared about you, can he – to have gone off like that?"

His father winced. Alex hadn't meant to hurt him, but the words had obviously stung.

"Dad – I know you're thinking of me. That's important."

His father patted his hand. "Anyway. Just had to warn you. Probably nothing to worry about, but I had to ..."

He suddenly stopped talking and sniffed the air, looking around.

"Dad?" said Alex, uncertainly.

His father was staring at the table with the beautiful young woman and the scarred young man sitting beside her. He held his gaze for almost a minute, then relaxed and turned back to Alex. "Sorry, son. I thought… it doesn't matter. Now, I hear you're off to Hogwarts in September! That's exciting, eh?"

Alex nodded. He was looking forward to Hogwarts, though with some trepidation.

"I loved it there. You'll make friends that last all your life, and that's more important that all the NEWTs and OWLs. Work hard though!"

"I will, dad. I'm a bit worried about the sorting, though."

"Don't be. Look, I was in Slytherin, and, yes, there were some nasty people there – maybe more than the other houses. But there were good people too, and the important thing is to be where you learn most. I learned what I should do from some of my house, and what not to do from some others. You'll be fine. Your mum made sure of that. You're a good kid."

Alex didn't say anything. He knew it was silly to hope that his parents would somehow get back together, and he tried to tell himself he didn't want it – he just wanted them to be happy. But when he thought about what would make him happiest, that was all he could think of. It was easier, sometimes, when his parents said unpleasant things about each other. It kept hope at bay.


	6. 06 - An Unexpected Message

An Unexpected Message

Harry Potter walked through King's Cross station, not wheeling a trunk or an owl in a cage, but carrying a small red leather suitcase. The station looked unfamiliar to him. Instead of groups of wizarding families, it was full only of Muggles.

The last time Harry had been in King's Cross he had been returning from Hogwarts. It had been a sad journey. Many of Harry's friends had died in the last great battle against Lord Voldemort, and the school itself had nearly been destroyed. Harry had never been able to bring himself to return. The former head of his house, Professor McGonagall, was now the headmistress, and she had several times invited him to visit. He had always politely refused.

Now, however, things were different. Harry had received a message – an impossible message. It was a message that he couldn't possibly refuse – so he was taking the train to Hogwarts, with an ancient suitcase borrowed from Arthur Weasley, into which he'd thrown an assortment of clothes. It had the initials J.H.W.W. engraved in faded gold. Some Weasley cousin or uncle, no doubt.

He'd debated whether to simply apparate to Hogsmeade, but he still didn't feel confident in his abilities to go that far. He could use his broomstick, but it was a long way to fly, and he didn't want to arrive exhausted. The train remained the traditional way to travel to Hogwarts, and as with so much in the Wizarding world, tradition outweighed convenience.

He strode towards the metal barrier that stood between platforms 9 and 10. He remembered what a shock it was the first time he had walked through it to platform 9¾ on the other side – or the equal shock when he and Ron Weasley had tried to pass through the following year, and smacked into it. He wasn't entirely sure that it would work this time either. He'd never attempted to get to platform 9¾ except to catch the special school express, and this was the summer holidays.

He swung his suitcase forward just before he reached the wall and it passed through, with Harry following. He found himself back on platform 9¾ – but it too looked very different. Back then, Harry could hardly move on the platform for shrieking children, anxious mothers and pleading little brothers and sisters. Now, it was entirely empty. Not even a single porter could be seen. It felt eerie, ghost-like – almost like the experience Harry had had when he'd been halfway between life and death, and had seen Professor Dumbledore in a dream like vision of the station. Professor Dumbledore, who had died two years previously.

The train was there, though. The Hogwarts express, looking the same as ever – except that as Harry walked beside it looking through the windows, each carriage was completely empty. But up ahead the engine was puffing out smoke and steam, as if ready to depart. Harry quickly glanced at his watch. He had had so many different wizard watches, but each of them seemed to do something other than tell the time. The watch that Molly Weasley had given him for his seventeenth birthday was one of his most precious possessions, but Harry had never properly understood what its many hands and dials actually indicated. In the end, Harry had bought a second-hand Muggle watch. It was clockwork – Harry had found that electrical devices tended to malfunction in the wizard world. It was nearly time for the train to depart. Harry chose a carriage at random, and climbed aboard, dragging his suitcase after him.

A few moments later the train departed. Harry wondered if someone would pass by with the sweet trolley. After an hour or so, he realized that they probably wouldn't. He had had a large breakfast, which Mrs Weasley had forced on him, and had felt quite bloated – but he was glad of it now. The train journey would take most of the day, and he hadn't brought any food with him.

Staring out at the countryside, he gradually dozed off. He found himself dreaming that he was back at Hogwarts, walking to the headmaster's office. Usually he'd looked forward to seeing Dumbledore, but for some reason he had a terrible sense of dread. He was his real age when the dream started, but as he walked through the corridors and up the moving staircases, he reverted to his eleven-year-old self. The scar on his forehead was burning.

He reached the gargoyle and wanted more than anything to run away, but found himself saying "sherbet lemon". The gargoyle swung away, and he stepped onto the moving spiral staircase. It swept him up to the familiar confines of the Headmaster's study. There, standing behind his desk, was the figure of the man he most admired in the world – Albus Dumbledore. He smiled at Harry, and then his expression changed to one of alarm. "Go back," he seemed to be saying, though Harry could not hear anything.

A familiar voice shouted from behind Harry. "Avada Kedavra!" There was a flash of green light, and Dumbledore was flying through the air. It wasn't Dumbeldore's office, it was the Astronomy Tower, and Dumbledore was hurled backwards over the battlements, crashing to the rocks below, dead before he hit them.

Harry turned around and saw what he knew had been behind him all the time, waiting for Harry to say the password and let him in. Lord Voldemort leered at Harry, his hideous noseless face even more snakelike than before.

"No!" Harry shrieked. "You're dead! You're dead!"

Voldemort gave a hideous black smile, and raised his wand – the Elder Wand that Harry had taken from him. "Oh, Harry. So were you, and so was he. Nothing really dies. Avad…"

Harry's scream woke him up. He looked around, and the carriage was dark. He felt relieved that there was no-one around to hear him. When he'd shared a dormitory with Ron, Seamus and Neville, he'd always been embarrassed when his nightmares had woken the others. This dream, at least, was only a dream, and not a vision of Lord Voldemort's thoughts.

The train was almost at Hogsmeade station. Harry stood up and collected his case from the rack. He opened it, and donned his wizard robes. The clothes he wore in King's Cross Station would be as out of place in Hogwarts as his robes would be in London.

The station looked no different from before. There had been no battle there.

There was a carriage waiting outside the station, drawn by a Thestral. There had been a time when only Harry, Luna Lovegood and a handful of others could see the Thestrals. That wasn't the case on that last morning, when weeping, shattered children were brought to the train to return to their families. They could all see the Thestrals, because they'd all seen death.

Harry could make out almost nothing through the darkness as the carriage made its way up to the castle. He was grateful. He didn't want to see what had happened to Hogwarts – the one place he loved more than any other, the only place he'd ever felt safe and secure – but the place on which he felt he'd brought down death and destruction.

The carriage stopped at the gates. Harry could see the Hogwarts coat of arms in its normal place – but there seemed to be something different about it. He reached for his wand. There was the faintest of cracks just visible where it had been shattered, before he had repaired it.

"Lumos," he said, and directed a thin beam of light at the coat of arms. It looked slightly different in some way that Harry at first couldn't identify. The same four animals were there – the lion of Gryffindor, the badger of Hufflepuff, the eagle of Ravenclaw, and the sinister snake of Slytherin. He couldn't tell what the difference was – and then it came to him. The yellow cross which divided the four symbols was gone. What could it mean?

He could hear a creaking from the gate. He looked down, and met the hostile gaze of Filch, the caretaker. The man turned his head and spat on the ground. "So, you're back," he said, coldly. "Bet you didn't expect to see me again. Thought I'd been killed, a squib in the middle of a wizard battle."

"I knew you weren't," said Harry. "I saw you at the end, clearing up."

"That's when you left. You was never one for clearing up after your mess. I thought _you_ was dead, but you always let me down." The gates were open now, and the carriage passed on to the castle.

Professor McGonagall was waiting for Harry at the main door. "Potter! Potter! I am so pleased to see you. Please, come in."

He clambered awkwardly out of the carriage, dragging his case, and held out his hand. Professor McGonagall moved towards him and for a terrible moment Harry thought she was going to give him a hug, but at the last minute she grasped his hand firmly.

"Potter! I am so pleased to see you! You look… you look so well. So much better than when I saw you last. Come in, come in. You must be hungry. Come to my office and we'll see what we can rustle up for you."

She tapped Harry's case with her wand and it vanished. She strode away down a dark corridor. Harry raced to keep up with her. "You're looking well yourself, headmistress," he said, but it wasn't true. McGonagall was looking far older than when he'd last seen her. There were new lines etched across her face, and her eyes looked distant and watery.

"I keep going, Potter. After all, if I don't, who will? You've been staying with the Weasleys, I understand. How is Molly? The rest of them?"

"Molly is… she's fine." He thought about the way Molly had wept when he'd left that morning, clinging to him and begging him not to leave. "It's just that… it's not just Fred, though that was terrible. George and Bill are both scarred, really badly scarred. Physically, I mean. We're all… Ginny was possessed. Arthur nearly died. Ron disappeared for months, and Molly thought he was dead too. She had that terrible quarrel with Percy. And then – she killed Bellatrix."

He shook his head, trying to think of what it all meant. "She just wants everybody around all the time. She keeps looking at that clock they have, just to make sure that they're all safe. And they can't be around now. Well, Arthur lives at home, but he's at work so much of the time. Bill is away with Fleur, Charlie with his dragons – he's in South America now. George comes home when he can, and Ron…" He sighed.

"Ron still can't take it all in, and he's… he tends to just get in a mood and go off in a sulk. He's angry, very angry about everything that happened. They're still poor and he didn't take his NEWT's. We're friends, but…" he shook his head.

Professor McGonagall took a key from her pocket and opened her office. "I asked Miss Granger – tactfully, of course – what the – hem – situation was with the two of them. She equally tactfully told me to mind my own business. Sit down, Potter."

"I don't know what the situation is, and I don't think Ron and Hermione do either. I think – I think he feels guilty for being Hermione's boyfriend."

Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows.

"I know, I know, it's ridiculous. But they were here for six years and never… you know. Then at the last minute, with everything collapsing about them – they were in love. Then a few moments later, Fred was killed and Ron's first girlfriend – Lavender Brown – she was torn apart by a werewolf right in front of them. He feels guilty and angry and won't talk about it."

Professor McGonagall nodded. "I wish them all well. I just can't blot that terrible day out of my mind. Every morning when I wake up there's a fraction of a second when I think it isn't real, and then it all comes back to me. I keep looking out for Charity Burbage in the corridors. She always looked a little confused. I even miss Severus, occasionally."

She gestured to her desk. "There are sandwiches, Potter, and a flagon of Pumpkin juice. I, on the other hand, will be having a glass of firewhiskey, and you are welcome to join me."

Harry nodded. "I think I will. I've been doing well, Professor. I know I always say that, but I really mean it now. Oh, before I forget, while we're talking about the Weasleys – me and Ginny…"

"Perhaps we could discuss that later," Professor McGonagall interrupted. "I always liked Ginny Weasley. Such a … _Gryffindor_ girl. The best of them are always a little troublesome – like you, Potter."

Harry smiled. "I tried to be good, Professor, but sometimes… things ran away with me."

"And you're an Auror now? I'm so pleased. I always thought you would be ideal."

Harry nodded. "I think I have you to thank for it, professor. They had to waive most of the requirements to get me in."

Professor McGonagall waved away his thanks. "You showed your qualifications to battle dark magic time and time again, Potter. I merely assured them that you had the theoretical background to be able to cope with all aspects of the job. Quite frankly, after defeating he who… Lord Voldemort, you could have had any job you wanted, from Minister of Magic to mine."

"I wouldn't want either," said Harry fervently. "Being headmaster… actually Professor, may I ask a question? Why did you keep your old office? You must be quite cramped in here?"

"Oh, no," said McGonagall. "This room is quite adequate for my purposes. Somehow it didn't seem right to move into the Headmaster's office. Even Professor Snape felt the same way. It's as if Albus were still with us."

"It's funny you should say that, Professor," said Harry. "I'd like to show you a message I received by owl last night."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a strip of paper. "It reads, 'Harry, if you would be so good, please make your way immediately to Hogwarts by the Express. There are matters which I wish to discuss with you. Your affectionate friend, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, former Headmaster Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.'"


	7. 07 - Parents

Parents

" _Mum… Dad… I have to go away for a while. There are bad things happening. The accidents, the disasters – there's someone responsible. Someone from the Wizard world. He will be looking for me. I have to hide."_

 _They looked at her – worried, upset, but trusting. They'd always trusted her._

" _What can we do?" her mother asked._

 _She shook her head. "Nothing. There's nothing that you can do."_

" _You'll need money," her father said. He ran to his desk. "There's a few hundred in cash here. I'll go to the bank…"_

" _There's no time," she said, dully. "I have to go now. Thank you, Dad. Thank you both, so much."_

 _She tucked the envelope of cash into her pocket, and pulled out her wand. "I think you should rest for a while. Somnus."_

 _They slowly sat down on the old leather sofa, and then leaned in to each other, their eyes closing as their heads gently touched. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small golden vial, marked with the letter M. She unscrewed the lid and held the vial in her left hand. Muttering the necessary words, she touched her wand to her mother's head and drew out a long silver thread, which she carefully directed into the vial. For several minutes the thread flowed, flashing in the evening sun, and she continued to guide it until finally it thinned and faded from sight. She carefully screwed the lid back on, and placed it into her bag. She took a similar vial from her pocket, marked with the letter D, and repeated the process with her father._

 _She looked down at them for several seconds, then left the room. She wandered the house, her wand held aloft. As she entered each room in turn, various items were illuminated with a bright red glow. Photographs. Letters. School reports. Childish drawings. All were placed in her bag._

 _She returned to her parents, still asleep on the couch. Her father had reached out and clasped his wife's hand. She leaned forward and kissed each of them on the cheek. "Goodbye," she whispered._

 _She raised her wand. "Oblivio," she said._

 _She didn't cry until she was outside the front door._

Hermione taken the tube straight to Heathrow. She had asked a number of wizards if there were a quick way to travel to Australia. It turned out that Muggle aircraft were quicker than any of the wizarding options, which involved flue travel through a number of different countries. Apparating such a distance was considered reckless. She thought she could manage it, but decided in the end not to take the risk. She'd had the ticket ready for months.

The flight was long and tiring, and when she arrived in Sydney there was a long bus journey to the unfamiliar suburban house. Superficially it was similar to the house in which she'd grown up, but the garden was unkempt, and the windows dirty.

She stood there, afraid, for several minutes, and then forced herself to walk to the front door. She rapped once and waited. There was a long delay, followed by slow footsteps. The door opened and her mother stood there, her face blank.

Hermione had a sudden feeling of doubt. This wasn't her mother. This woman's hair was dirty and unbrushed. Her dress – it was a dress that her mother kept for special occasions, but it was dirty and torn. Mostly though, it was her face, her eyes – blank, unresponsive, and joyless.

 _It isn't my mother,_ Hermione thought. _But it will be. It will be._

The woman gazed at her emptily. There was no warmth, but neither was there any hostility, or curiosity. Hermione was an event, no better or worse than any other.

"Mrs Wilkins. I have something to tell you." Hermione paused, carefully framing her words. "Do you remember the incidents of a year ago – the series of accidents?"

The woman nodded, casually. The incidents had happened. She didn't feel about them one way or another.

"They weren't accidents. A… a terrorist group was carrying them out. I was involved in the resistance to this group. My… people who were… involved with me were in danger, considerable danger, from my activities."

Hermione paused again. The woman spoke, flatly and without any apparent interest. "How does that concern me?"

Hermione continued. "I needed to ensure that these people were safe. That meant that they would have to take on new identities. However, the terrorist group had certain advanced capabilities."

The woman continued to watch Hermione, but showed no sign that she was following what was she was saying.

"They were able to, effectively, detect what people could think. Even if these people had new identities, they would be able to analyse their behaviour to detect their thoughts."

"That's very advanced," said the woman, flatly.

"Yes, it is," said Hermione. "Luckily, the group I work for has similar techniques. It was possible to blank their memories temporarily, to prevent their being detected."

"How does that involve me?" repeated the woman, showing for the first time a slight flutter of interest.

"You… you and your husband had your memories… altered, for your own safety. The threat is past, and I… I've been sent to… to restore you to your normal condition."

The woman twisted violently away from Hermione, staring at the ceiling. "That sounds implausible," she said.

"Mu… Mrs Wilkins, I assure you that everything I have said is true. "Your memory has been altered. A great deal of your past is inaccessible to you."

The woman turned back and stared at Hermione. "I… there are times that I don't quite…"

Hermione leaned in towards her. "Mrs Wilkins – isn't there a lot that you can't quite bring to mind? Christmas, for example. Can you remember Christmas, these last ni… nineteen years?" Hermione's throat was dry, her heart pounding, but she forced herself to continue.

"You can't remember Christmas because that was taken away from you. I've come to return it."

The woman pushed her chin against her chest and hugged herself tightly. "It _hurts. It hurts to think about it!_ " she suddenly screamed.

Hermione struggled to speak calmly. "It hurts because there's a gap, in your mind. It's like an… an open wound. You've learned, over recent months, to avoid those areas, because they are painful. You have to be brave. You have to go to those places because until you do, I can't… I can't reach them. I can't restore what you've lost."

The woman glared at her fiercely. "You should have let us die," she said, flatly. "It would have been better than this."

It was hard, harder than she could have imagined. "You would have died. Probably in pain and terror. This was the only way to prevent it. Now you can be alive – if you help me."

The woman stood up and started to walk away. "Don't go!" Hermione called.

The woman glanced over her shoulder, but didn't stop. "I'm getting my husband," she said. "We both have to do this."

A few minutes later Hermione's father entered the room after his wife. He looked physically more changed than she, but still somehow like himself. He had an untidy beard, and his hair was long and uncombed. He was wearing dirty pyjamas under a ragged dressing gown.

"What is it?" he said, in a high irritable voice.

Hermione repeated the story she had told her mother. When she had finished they stared at her blankly. Finally, her father spoke. "What do you want us to do?" His voice was dull, defeated and hopeless.

"I will show you what to do. It will hurt; it will hurt a great deal," Hermione said. "Do you believe what I told you?"

Her mother stared bleakly at her. "It doesn't matter what we believe. I know that nothing will change."

Her father shifted sideways, moving slightly away from his wife. "We are doing this because you tell us to do it. At least the pain… it will be like feeling something."

Hermione bit her lip. "Very well. We'll begin tomorrow." When she'd visualised this moment, she'd imagined she and her parents working together to achieve a common aim, with hope and mutual support. _They're only doing this because they've no hope left_ _,_ she thought. _They can't imagine that anything could get any worse._

"I'll need to stay here," she said. "Do you have a spare room?"

Her mother nodded. "Upstairs on the right. Are you hungry? We'll be having dinner in a little while."

Hermione didn't want to eat, but she knew that she should. "Yes, please," she said. They turned away from her and went into the kitchen without a further word.

Dinner was made from microwave packs and reheated tins. Both her parents used to cook, and they did it as they did everything else – with care and precision. Now there was an excess of tasteless processed food, which they ate without interest or relish. Hermione forced herself to take a few forkfuls. When she'd been a child, they'd insisted that she finish what was on her plate. Now they'd prepared more than they could eat, and threw half the meal away.

"You should sleep," she said, briskly. "We have a long, hard day, tomorrow."

They nodded. They carelessly placed the unrinsed dirty plates in the dishwasher, and obediently went upstairs. Lights had been left switched on downstairs, and Hermione went around switching them off before she followed them.

The room was bleak and empty. She knew that her old room was still intact, safe in the old house – but it felt as if it had been stripped down, and all her own memories lost. She sat on the bed, and for a moment felt hopeless. _No, no, I can do this. It's what I planned. They will be better. They will be well._

She did not expect to sleep, but somehow she did – exhausted in body and mind. She dreamed of Gringott, standing over her parents' bodies with a hideous grin on his face. _They're dead, just like me,_ he said, in his horrible grating voice. _You killed them._

 _I had to!_ she screamed _. They would have died._

 _They did die,_ he replied. _They're just walking around._

She awoke with a start, to see the sunlight streaming in the window. She looked at the alarm by her bedside. It was late.

Washed and dressed, she crept downstairs. Her parents were sitting together in the kitchen. They slowly turned to face her.

Her father spoke first. "We want to begin as soon as possible. Whatever it takes."

"Have some breakfast first. There's cereal and milk," said her mother.

"Have you eaten?" Hermione asked awkwardly.

Her mother shook her head. "Later," she said. "When it's over."

They got up. "We'll wait in the living room," her father said. "Come in when you're ready. Have breakfast. Prepare."

She forced herself to eat. This would be a long day, and she needed to be completely ready. There could be no interruption once she had started.

When she went into the living room her mother was sitting on the sofa. Her father was on the armchair. They weren't looking at each other, and didn't seem to have been talking. Hermione reached into her bag, and pulled out a gold vial. The letter 'M' was carefully engraved on it.

"Mu… Mrs Wilkins, I think we should begin with you. Mr Wilkins, you may leave if you wish. This might appear… distressing."

"I'll stay," said her father.

He turned to his wife. "I love you," he said, and clasped her hand for a moment.

"I go on because of you," she said, and for the first time Hermione heard emotion in her voice.

Hermione unscrewed the vial. "This will hurt terribly," she said. "Your minds have become accustomed to forgetting. They have to adjust themselves. The world will seem plastic and unreal. The pain cannot be controlled or repressed because it's part of your mind itself."

She took out her wand. "If you block the memories, they will be lost. Lost forever. You have to let them in. But… but when they start to bed in – which happens quite quickly – then you'll start to remember things. Good things, I hope."

"It sounds like the kind of thing I used to tell people when I was a dentist," said her mother. "I used to tell them that something would pinch a little."

Hermione forced a smile. "It will hurt a great deal," she said. "But we have to do it."


	8. 08 - Houses United

Houses United

Harry waited for a reaction from Professor McGonagall, but she merely sipped her firewhiskey and nodded.

"Aren't you surprised, Professor?" he asked, bewildered.

She placed her glass on her desk and reached into the drawer. "No, Potter, because a little over a week ago, I received _this_ note by owl."

She pulled out a small scroll of paper, almost the same size as Harry's, and began to read.

"'It is my earnest hope that this letter will be received by my old friend Minerva McGonagall, but if sadly she is, by reason of death, disability, dementia or dismissal _not_ the headmistress, I ask that whoever is currently filling that position should comply with the following request.'"

The Professor paused and took a tiny sip from her glass. "Please arrange for the Hogwarts Express to be waiting at Kings Cross on the morning of…' – today's date, Potter, timed for when you received your message - 'to deliver Harry Potter to Hogwarts. When he has arrived and is comfortably settled, please bring him to the headmaster's study, and leave him there alone, opposite my portrait. When he returns, please follow his instructions as if they were my own.' Signed in identical fashion."

"I suppose… is that Dumbledore's signature? Can we be sure?" asked Harry, anxiously.

"I performed several simple charms, and it seems authentic enough. However – Dumbledore was a very subtle man, Potter. He did not share everything with you – and nor did he share everything with me. Did you ever wonder why I was barely active in the Order of the Phoenix?"

Harry nodded. "I never asked him, but…"

"Nor did I. He would have made a joke. He would not have told me why, and he would not have changed his mind. He clearly wished me to remain at Hogwarts, concentrating my efforts on the school and its pupils, so that is what I did."

She sighed. "I still do not understand much of what Professor Dumbledore did, Potter, but I do know that he always had a deep reason for it. He had plans within plans, designed to deal with every eventuality. He was perfectly capable, in those last days, when he was dying, of sending these messages, timed to arrive when he wished."

Harry gave a little gasp, something close to a sob. "I know he's dead. I know better than anyone that he's dead. I still – I just need him not to be."

McGonagall patted his arm. "Believe me, Potter, I do too. Although… well, never mind."

"What?" asked Harry. "Say it. I know he wasn't perfect, Professor. I've been very angry with him, many times."

McGonagall nodded, and took a gulp from her glass. "Dumbledore was a great man. He was a great headmaster. But… he was never that involved in the day to day running of this school. He could have been Minister for Magic, or, indeed, anything he wanted. He was by far the best of us. He chose this place, this job – my job, now – as the place where he could do the most important work. I'm afraid that the work didn't involve planning timetables or enforcing discipline. That was left to the heads of houses, and individual teachers."

She shook her head. "Do you know, I think I have less work now as headmistress than I did when I was teaching, and running Gryffindor, and…" she tailed off.

"When you were running the school for Professor Dumbledore," finished Harry, grinning.

McGonagall blushed – perhaps the first time in his life that Harry had seen it happen. "Well… yes. And when I make a decision about how we're going to do things…"

"You know it won't be countermanded because Dumbledore has some scheme in mind," Harry continued, laughing.

McGonagall smiled. "All the same, I miss him terribly. I know that there will be huge decisions to be made, that will affect the whole wizard world – and I will have to make them, and I don't have a quarter of his wisdom and knowledge."

Harry felt a surge of affection for the elderly woman who had looked after him at Hogwarts for so many years. "I've a feeling that you're the ideal person to be in charge right now, Professor. It's been hard, hasn't it?"

"Oh, Potter, it's been very hard, very hard indeed. The school was open for this last year, but barely. The destruction was terrible, and to lose the lives of pupils... so many of them… I offered my resignation of course, but the governors insisted that we had to keep open. I told the parents that I would fully understand if they wished for their children to stay away for a while. I think for most of the first term we had barely a third of normal attendance. Certainly, very few of the new first years turned up. Then, gradually, people trickled back, and we were about half the normal complement by the end of the year. It simply wasn't possible to hold the OWLs and NEWTs."

Harry pondered to himself. He had shut himself away from the great work of rebuilding that had been going on in the wizarding world. So much suffering and destruction. He'd felt that when Voldemort died, it was the end of the adventure, but of course, for many people, it was the start.

McGonagall was still speaking and he forced himself to pay attention. "So, I decided that it was an ideal time – while the school was in transition – to make some changes."

Harry's ears pricked up. "Changes? What changes?" Suddenly he felt afraid – as if the one place he thought he could rely on was being swept away, replaced with something new and strange.

McGonagall pursed her lips. "Well, firstly, I want to end the house system."

Harry stared at her, aghast. "Professor – you can't! Gryffindor – all the best of us come from Gryffindor."

She wagged a forefinger at him. "What about Slytherin, Potter? Don't tell me that you think _that's_ healthy. Ravenclaw students leaving and, well, disappearing, to do abstract research and self-obsessed counting how many elves can fit on a broomstick. Those sad, disappointed faces from all the boys and girls who ended up in Hufflepuff. No, Potter, so much of what went wrong with our world started right here in Hogwarts, where instead of trying to unite we foster enmity and division."

"But Professor – Gryffindor! You can't… I mean, you mustn't…" Harry wailed.

"Calm yourself, Potter," said McGonagall, shaking her head. "I said what I wanted, not what's going to actually happen. This is a process that will take some years to bed in. The Sorting Hat has been told to give priority to the student's wishes above all else. That whole business of Slytherin hiding in the cellars to learn God knows what – well, that's over. They all do the same classes, together, and then in later years they choose for themselves what they'd like to specialise in. They'll keep their dormitories and common rooms, but I plan to move on that in a while."

"I suppose that if Slytherin is cleaned up then it might be worth it," said Harry slowly. "The Quidditch Cup though – that's still going on isn't it?"

"Oh, heavens, yes! There are some traditions in Hogwarts that we really must stick with. The students can have a healthy rivalry, between friends, instead of feuding and conspiracy."

Harry frowned. "All those pure-blood families who used to send their children so they'd be in Slytherin – what will they do now? Won't they just go… somewhere else?"

"Ah, well, you might have been right a while ago, Potter. With the likes of Lucius Malfoy on the board of governors, we wouldn't have been allowed to take such a step. It's all different now, though. The old families are falling over themselves to claim that they don't care who's pure-blood, and 'Some of my best friends are Muggles'. That old snobbery is unfashionable now – maybe not forever, but for a while. I want to keep the momentum going. I don't think Slytherin will change that quickly, though. The older families – well, they'll want their children in their old house, and I can't imagine many Muggle-borns choosing to go to Slytherin, at least at first."

The Professor raised her glass, but it was empty. She looked at the bottle for a moment, then turned back to Harry. "If the children are brought up together as friends, then they won't be as quick to turn on each other later. Keep this to yourself, mind, Potter. I don't want a Rita Skeeter article appearing about this for the time being. I've been trying to talk the Sorting Hat around. Do you remember the song when that awful Umbridge woman came here? He was all for reconciliation then, bringing the houses together, but now it's happening he's turned against it."

"I hope it works, Professor. I always felt… well, Ron and Hermione…"

McGonagall nodded. "Miss Granger was possibly an entirely typical Ravenclaw. The Weasleys were pure Hufflepuff, but their sheer guts put them into Gryffindor. Except for possibly Charlie. Oh, to see Charlie Weasley block the snitch. You were the best I ever saw at catching it, Potter, but Charlie once held up a game for four hours when Gryffindor were losing by two hundred points, and in the end the other team – Hufflepuff I think it was – just let us score the points so they could go to bed."

She's gotten old, thought Harry. She'd like to talk to me all night. But even as he thought it, McGonagall pulled herself to her feet. "Bless my soul, I seem to be rambling. Potter, you look quite done in. Would you like to get to bed now, and …"

"No!" said Harry quickly. "I mean… that's very kind of you, Professor, but if I don't find out what Dumbledore wanted – I won't sleep tonight in any case."

McGonagall nodded. "Very well, Potter. I'll bring you there."

"I, er, know the way, Professor. You don't need…"

"I don't think you do," said McGonagall. "You know how you _used_ to get there. There was a lot of damage to the staircases. We've had to open up a number of secret passages. We still have a lot of trouble getting around, and there are parts of the castle that are still quite unsafe."

"I suppose that the structure was seriously damaged," said Harry.

"There was plenty of damage, but that was easily dealt with," said McGonagall. "That's not the problem. We have enough magical firepower to repair bricks and mortar, but there were many creatures and artefacts hidden away in Hogwarts, and there was a lot of magic being hurled around during the battle. Some things got loose that are proving quite tricky to get back, and we have to keep them isolated. Still, the way to the Headmaster's study is safe enough. Follow me."


	9. 09 - The Philosopher's Stone

The Philosopher's Stone

Harry had thought that he knew Hogwarts from top to bottom, but Professor McGonagall brought him along corridors and staircases he had never seen before. Walls that he'd thought to be solid opened up into passages and even large halls. He lost all sense of direction, and thought that he was under the lake when suddenly he turned a corner and found that they were at the entrance to the Headmaster's office.

"I'll wait for you here, Potter. Take your time. Whatever this is, I'm sure it's important," said McGonagall briskly

"Professor, I can easily find my way…" began Harry. Even as he said it, he realised that it wasn't true.

"Nonsense, Potter!" He might have been eleven years old again. "I haven't even told you where your room is."

"Oh. I assumed…"

"Assumed that you'd be in your old dormitory? That would never do. You're an adult. Now, I'll stand over here and you can enter the password."

"Um… Professor? I don't know the password."

McGonagall frowned. "Really? That's strange. Professor Dumbledore implied that you would. Have a try. I'm sure it will come to you. If it doesn't, I'll let you in."

Harry walked over to the gargoyle. "It's me, Professor Dumbledore," he said. "Harry Potter."

The gargoyle made a movement of about an inch, but then slid back.

"Open. Let me in! It's Harry Potter!" But nothing happened. Harry thought for a moment. It had to be something he would know, something that Dumbledore would expect him to say…

"Lily and James," said Harry, quietly. The gargoyle slid aside to reveal the staircase. Always another test, thought Harry.

Harry didn't feel like an adult as the steps carried him up towards the headmaster's office. He felt like a nervous boy on his first day of school. His dream didn't seem to matter now. It felt very different from the visions he'd had when Lord Voldemort's thoughts had intermingled with his own. It was almost a relief to have normal nightmares, born of anxiety and anticipation. He was nervous about what was going to happen – but not concerned that Voldemort would jump out from behind him.

He walked across the room staring at the portraits, until he came to Dumbledore. He'd been afraid to confront the portrait – afraid to hear that kindly, yet half-mocking voice.

"Good evening, Harry. So glad you could come." He forced himself to look up. It was Dumbledore, looking as he had when Harry had first seen him in the Great Hall – before his arm had been withered and blighted by Voldemort's curse. "You look very like James, now – except for the eyes, of course."

"Hello, Professor," said Harry.

"If you would be so kind, make your way to the Pensieve. It has been prepared for you." The portrait of Dumbledore sat back in its chair and closed its eyes.

Harry turned away and walked to the cupboard where he thought he remembered that the Pensieve was kept. Wait, he thought, is it here? He opened the cupboard to find the Sorting Hat. He began to close the door when it spoke.

"Ah, Potter. I've always felt rather put out about you. 'Not Slytherin', eh? Why don't people trust the hat? I've been doing this for hundreds of years. They will keep changing the rules." Harry sighed. It seemed that it wasn't just Professor McGonagall who wanted a chat. Being alone in a cupboard all year must be quite boring.

"Now Minerva McGonagall wants to pension me off. Just let the children decide, she says. Fine thanks after all this time. Nobody listens to me, of course. I tried to tell them about Tom Riddle the first day he set foot in this place. 'Evil to the core,' I said. 'Darkest thoughts I've ever read. What did they do about it? Noth…"

Harry gently closed the cupboard and walked across to the other side of the room. He passed in front of the portrait, which sat up and opened its eyes. "Good evening, Harry. So glad you could come. You look very like James…"

Harry sighed, and kept walking. He could hear the Sorting Hat and the portrait talking quietly to themselves.

When he reached the Pensieve, he felt foolish for getting lost. He had made considerable use of this amazing magical device, over the course of several years, supervised by Professor Dumbledore or occasionally

The water in the Pensive appeared clear, without the swirling thoughts and memories that Harry remembered. He stared at the blank surface for a moment, then plunged his face into it. He opened his eyes, but could see nothing but the base of the bowl. When he could hold his breath no longer, he raised his head back up. Nothing. He was exactly where he had been. Except…

Except that the portrait and the Sorting Hat were now silent. Had the portrait simply finished Dumbledore's message? He looked to where it had been hanging, and found that it was no longer there. Behind the headmaster's desk, however, sat Dumbledore himself.

"Well, Harry," said the familiar voice, "I think we have some matters to discuss." This was the Dumbledore Harry knew from the last weeks of his life. Vulnerable, in pain, dying. He held his withered hand out of sight behind the desk.

Harry walked over to the other side of the desk and sat down. He had a hundred things to say, but couldn't think of which was most important. "I miss you," he said.

Dumbledore nodded. "I must caution you, Harry, that just because something is happening in your head, doesn't mean that it's real. I am not Dumbledore, the man. The man is dead. I am a memory, only. A little like the portrait, but rather more sophisticated."

"I thought that memories in the Pensieve were just played back – you couldn't talk to them."

Dumbledore smiled. "That is certainly the case for most thoughts stored in the Pensieve, most of the time. I've simply used my quite considerable magical talent to make this memory a little bit more ingenious. Do you remember Tom Riddle's diary, Harry? That was a memory, but it talked to you, if you recall."

"That was a Horcrux, though, wasn't it? Was that how…"

"That was how the diary was able to possess Ginny Weasley, Harry, yes. Don't be concerned. There is no fragment of my soul embedded here. I am truly dead. If I were not – if Severus, by some stroke of brilliance were able to cure me – then the messages would not have been sent, and the Pensieve would not have opened for you."

"It's still… it's good to talk to you again. We've all – we've missed you." There was a slight catch in Harry's voice.

"That is one of the benefits of dying, Harry. The pain of seeing loved ones lost is over. That pain belongs to those who remain. I am, however, glad to hear that you still think well of me."

He toyed with an ornament on his desk. "I think it must also be true that if you are here, Lord Voldemort is dead. Is that the case?"

"It is, sir," said Harry. "He's finally gone. Forever, this time." It felt good to Harry to say this with certainty – to tell Dumbledore this, even only a memory of Dumbledore.

"You have done well, Harry. You always do well." There was a note of pride in Dumbledore's voice. He's my father, thought Harry. The only real father I ever had, since James Potter died. Not Uncle Vernon, or Arthur Weasley, not even Sirius.

"Now, Harry, to business. You have had an awful childhood. Since you came to Hogwarts, you have been subjected to death and terror. As for your Muggle guardians – you remember the house-elf Dobby warning you of certain death if you came to Hogwarts?"

Harry nodded.

"And yet, rather than stay with the Dursleys, you were determined to risk it. That says everything about the way you were treated. I consider myself to blame – no, no, I'm old enough to take responsibility." He held up a hand to silence Harry's protests.

"You have suffered, again and again, far more than any child should suffer. You have lost your loved ones. You deserve a rest. You deserve happiness." Dumbledore shook his head. "And yet, I have need of you. There are things – vital things – that nobody can do but you."

"Professor – I still consider that I owe you everything. You have saved me many times, from myself as often as not. If you have a job…" Harry sat up straight. "…I'm Dumbledore's man. I always was, and I always will be."

Dumbledore looked immeasurably sad. "I know that, Harry. I know. I also know that I do not deserve this loyalty." He gave Harry a look that silenced him – a sideways, guilty look. "I wasn't sure how to reward you for what you have done. I know that you have wealth. Did Miss Ginevra Weasley survive?"

"Yes," said Harry. "We lost some friends, but Ginny's fine."

"I'm so very glad, Harry. You have wealth, and love. What can I offer you?"

Harry leaned forward. "Professor, you don't have to offer me anything. I'm loyal to you, always."

"Nevertheless, Harry, it is wrong that you should labour without hope of reward. If you are able to perform the task I have set for you – a task of the utmost importance to the wizarding world, and beyond – then you will be paid in the only coin I have that you will value. I will pay you in knowledge."

Harry stared. "Knowledge of what, Professor? Magic? Secrets of Hogwarts?" Harry felt bewildered. He'd been a hard-working student, but he'd never had the love of learning that possessed Hermione so intensely. It sounded as if Dumbledore was going to reward him with extra homework.

"Of yourself, Harry. Of your life. Of what really happened at Hogwarts over those seven years." Dumbledore's voice was quiet now, without the usual chuckle. "Of what happened then, and before. Before you were born."

"But… but… you told me everything. Didn't you?" Harry felt dizzy. He'd been sure that he'd understood everything that had happened. Over the years, Harry had felt lost and confused about his life – but it had all been explained, eventually. There were no more mysteries left, surely?

"Ah, Harry. There's always something else to know. In your case, there is so much. However, the choice is yours, always. I've always thought of you as a boy – and a man – who would rather have the truth, the unpleasant truth, rather than a comforting lie."

Harry remembered the Mirror of Erised – how he'd been tempted by the illusions it generated, of family and safety. How Dumbledore had helped him to resist it. "The truth. Always. Whatever the cost."

Dumbledore nodded. "Very well then, Harry. What would you like to ask me about?"

Harry thought for a moment. "I was wondering about the Elder wand. What were its…"

Dumbledore burst out laughing. "Oh, I'm sorry, Harry. That was a bit of a bluff. I guessed that you would ask me about the adventure of the Philosopher's Stone. You see, that is all that I can tell you. I am just a fragment of a thought, after all, and all I can do is respond with what the real Professor Dumbledore placed in the Pensieve. If I were here in my full, living self, then I would be able to tell you anything, within reason. As it is, I will have to just tell you about your first year at Hogwarts."

"I see," said Harry, shortly. Usually he enjoyed Dumbledore's frivolous attitude, but in these circumstances, it annoyed him. "Well, then…". He thought frantically. Back then, he'd known literally nothing about Hogwarts, and what to expect, except that it would mean escaping from the Dursleys. Suddenly a fragmentary thought crossed his mind.

"Professor," he asked slowly, "is the position of Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher still cursed? By Lord Voldemort?"

Dumbledore smiled. "An excellent question, Harry, and as it happens, one that I can answer, as it relates to the very question of the Philosopher's Stone. Yes, there is a real, genuine curse on the position. Perhaps you can summarise for me the fate of all the Professors who have held the post since you arrived at Hogwarts?"

Harry thought. "They're all dead, or in prison. Oh, Lockhart is in hospital still, I think."

Dumbledore steepled his fingers and nodded. "Ah, yes, the accident with Ronald Weasley's broken wand. Typical of the ill fortune that attended the curse. So, Remus died? Poor Remus. I had hoped… And Severus, I presume. I am sorry, but not surprised. He set himself on a hard path, and I did not release him from it."

"How does the curse work? I mean… we never learned…" said Harry, stammering.

"Such a curse would be typically described in your fifth year, when Dolores Umbridge was responsible for telling you about it. I suppose that I am not surprised that she failed to pass on the knowledge. Your friend Miss Granger will no doubt know the details, but suffice it to say that such a curse is almost the opposite of a luck potion, attached to a person, place or, in this case, job. It does not cause any specific harm, but produces misfortune according to the intensity of the curse. Voldemort's malice and power were considerable, and the effects seemed to increase as the years went on. Generally, the worst could be avoided by changing the Professor year on year. When they left the job, the curse ceased to follow them. Ultimately, as Voldemort returned and regained his strength, the curse became stronger as well, taking its effect before even a single year had finished."

"I see," said Harry. "But in that case, why did you…"

"Why did I allow a succession of Professors to suffer from the curse? That's an excellent question, Harry – so good, that I felt compelled to interrupt in case you failed to pose it. Before I answer it, perhaps you could ask me a parallel question dealing with the people who held the post?"

Harry thought. Quirrell, Lockhart, Lupin, Mad-Eye – no, Barty Crouch, Umbridge, Snape… "They weren't a great bunch, in retrospect, Professor. I mean, apart from Lupin…" Harry choked for a moment, and was unable to speak.

"Ah, Remus," said Dumbledore softly. "So brave."

Harry shook his head. "It was at the very end. With Tonks. The two of them. They had so little time…"

Dumbledore stared emptily into space. "It should not be a surprise. I knew there would be a great many individual tragedies. Still… well, well. There is nothing we can do about it."

"So, Professor," said Harry, struggling to suppress the picture of Lupin and Tonks lying side by side, "weren't you rather – er – unlucky with your choices?"

Dumbledore stroked his beard. "It would be very bad luck to have so many active enemies in the job, wouldn't it, Harry? Tell me, do you think that I'm a foolish man, easily deceived?"

"Foolish! No!" blurted Harry. "I mean… I've always thought you seemed to be able to see whatever I was thinking. Not just me… you were just one step ahead, all the time."

"Indeed? And don't you think that it's rather strange that I should be so easily deceived by a succession of villains?" Dumbledore was fixing Harry with the intense stare that he associated with tricky questions.

"Very strange," mumbled Harry, "unless…"

"Yes, Harry? Unless…"

Harry spoke haltingly but with growing certainty. "Unless you knew about them, and you used the curse against them?"

Dumbledore clapped his hands. "Bravo, Harry! Admittedly it has taken you nearly ten years to work this out, but yes, I found it rather amusing to use Lord Voldemort's curse against his supporters."

"Lupin didn't support Voldemort!" said Harry, fiercely. "He was the best teacher we ever had!"

"Yes, I felt it necessary that you should be taught by somebody with the necessary skills, Harry. You lost a year with Lockhart, and Quirrell was mediocre at the job. Remus was an excellent, skilled teacher."

"So how could you subject him to the curse?" snapped Harry, angrily. It wasn't the curse which had caused his death, was it?

"There's a strange hierarchy of curses, Harry. A greater curse will always outweigh the effects of a lesser. Dear me, I would have hoped that Dolores would at least have taught you that. Remus Lupin was already suffering from the effects of a far more terrible curse – the curse of lycanthropy. Any lesser magic would simply dissipate."

"Lockhart wasn't a Death Eater, though? He was just…"

"Just a fraud, who used the only spell he ever properly mastered to take the credit from better men. I needed someone to fill the post, and Lockhart needed to be apprehended and punished. I had no hard evidence against him, and he was immensely popular. I preferred to kill two birds with one stone, and offer him what he thought was a safe and rewarding position, and to wait for his misdeeds to find him out."

"But Snape?"

Dumbledore frowned. " _Professor_ Snape, Harry. We will talk of that another day. Let us discuss Professor Quirrell. Or rather, let us discuss the adventure of which the late Professor Quirrell played such a central part."

"The Stone…" said Harry, softly. "It's strange… we were so young, and we just jumped into things. I wasn't ever really scared."

"You could not know, then, what Voldemort was. It was important that you did not. The fear that he engendered… the very name unspeakable. No sooner had you learned of his existence than you knew that you had defeated him, as a little baby. That is where the story really begins."

Harry was silent. He had the vaguest of memories of what had happened –flashes of green light, screams, a searing pain – but it still haunted him.

Dumbledore smiled, as if knowing Harry's feelings. "It was a difficult time. The tragedy of your parents' deaths, the glory of Voldemort's defeat. I had to force myself to look past the emotional reaction – the very strong emotional reaction – and ponder the situation."

"What happened when your parents died…" Dumbledore was silent, for such a long time that Harry thought that something had gone wrong.

"Professor? My parents…"

Dumbledore stirred. "I will talk about that at another time. I had to deal with the situation as it was, not as I would have wished it to be. Your parents were gone. Voldemort had disappeared, his power apparently broken. How did it happen? Where was he, if he were not dead? If he were not dead, how was he to be dealt with?"

He shook his head sadly. "I leave aside how I came to understand what had happened. Suffice to say – Voldemort was not dead. He was in a state near death, but something had saved him – something that I did not yet understand. It was your mother's sacrifice that had protected you and destroyed his physical form. The horcruxes had prevented his total demise, but I did not yet understand this."

"It became my aim firstly to find Lord Voldemort, and then to destroy him. Finding him was difficult, but not impossible. It is fortunate that most of his followers were dead, imprisoned, or in hiding. Some, like Professor Snape, had genuinely recanted. Some, like the Malfoys, had pretended to renounce him. The net result was that none of them were seeking him – or indeed, had any idea that he had survived."

Dumbledore suddenly smiled. "At every stage, Harry, we see how Voldemort's arrogance, his obstinacy, his lack of trust frustrated his own plans. He had taken the precaution of the horcruxes in order to protect himself against bodily death – but had not alerted any of his followers as to how they were to proceed if such an event happened. He had told no-one where he would hide, or how his physical form should be restored."

"But you didn't find him," said Harry. "Quirrell did – blundered on him. Wasn't that it?"

Dumbledore laughed. "Not quite, Harry, not quite. Let me tell you about Professor Quirrell. Professor Quirrell was a quiet, unassuming man, who became ambitious. He had the fault of many Ravenclaws – he pursued knowledge for its own sake, disregarding the effect it might have on himself and others. He wished to become expert in the Dark Arts. It is a different motivation to the followers of the Dark Lord, who seek knowledge to gain power, but all too often it leads to the same end."

Dumbledore shook his head. "We like to think that by learning more about those different to us, we will become more sympathetic to them. Alas, this is not always the case. Professor Quirrell was a teacher of Muggle Studies. One would hope that this would have led him to a belief in the essential fellow humanity of wizards and Muggles. It did not. Quirrell began to despise Muggles, to subscribe to the main tenet of Voldemort's ideology – that Muggles were to be enslaved, and that wizards should rule."

"Why didn't he become a Death Eater, in the first place?" asked Harry.

"In the first place, he was too young, when Voldemort was recruiting," said Dumbledore. "Secondly, he had no sympathy with the preposterous pure-blood theories believed in by Voldemort's followers. It was power he sought. Power and knowledge. He was never fond of what one might call the Slytherin tendency."

"So, he set out to find Lord Voldemort?" asked Harry.

"He would have done, if he had known where he was to be found. He knew what Professor Snape's history was, and he tried to find out from him where Voldemort was located. Snape did not know, and would not have told him if he had. However, I did know, and I had Snape reveal that fact to Quirrell. Or rather, have Quirrell discover it, thinking it was due to his own cleverness."

"You knew where Voldemort was?"

"It was not an easy thing. There was no simple spell, no obvious way to track him down. But the Dark Lord had used powerful magic, designed to control and monitor his followers and destroy his enemies. This magic left a trace, a faint trace, which linked to him. I was able to track him down. Since then, I have always been able to tell, within a few miles, where the Dark Lord was concealed. I have told you this before. If I could have used this information to capture him, I would have done so, at least while he was almost powerless. I could not have done so, because he would have fled before me. Sending another wizard risked their corruption and enslavement, or death. What could I do?"

"Wasn't he harmless? Out of the way, powerless, hiding…"

Dumbledore shook his head. "As we saw, it was only a matter of time before one of Voldemort's followers sought him out. Peter Pettigrew was a mediocre wizard, but yet he managed to find his master, and to gather other supporters around him. I knew that eventually, this would happen."

"So, you wanted Quirrell to find Voldemort?" Harry was starting to understand. He wasn't sure he liked it.

"Quirrell had made up his mind – even though he might not have known it himself – to serve Lord Voldemort. I enabled him to do so. Does this trouble you, Harry?"

Harry nodded. "It seems a bit… ruthless."

"And so it was, Harry. So it was. You may find, over the next months, that you learn other things that trouble you – actions that I took, feeling them to be necessary, that you may find shocking. I realize this, but yet I feel I must be honest with you, even at the cost of your respect."

"I will always respect you, Professor," said Harry. "I know that whatever you have done, it has been for the best. Even when…"

"Even when it involved sending you to your death, Harry? I always knew that there was a terrible risk that you might not survive, though I am very glad that you did." Dumbledore's voice was very quiet, but very clear.

"I expected to die, Professor. I would do the same again."

Dumbledore turned his head away for a moment. "Well, well. That is, at least for now, good to hear."

He paused for a second, then turned back. "Well, Harry, the problem then became – how best to prevent Quirrell and Lord Voldemort decamping together, and organizing in secret. I sent Quirrell after Voldemort to bring him into my clutches. Even then, I feared that I would not be able to capture him. Voldemort at that stage was a mere disembodied spirit. Any spells I might apply to him might simply cause him to dissipate, only to reappear months or years later, in effectively the same form. I wished to trap him, to destroy him forever."

"I talked at length with Professor Quirrell about Lord Voldemort. I confided in him my fears, my knowledge of Lord Voldemort. I realise this seems manipulative, Harry. Would Quirrell have gone so badly wrong if I had not offered him this temptation? I cannot tell."

A look something like guilt seemed to pass over Dumbledore's face. "'For The Greater Good'. I have fought against that slogan, Harry, but yet I am perhaps the worst offender. Had I done nothing to tempt Quirrell, it is my honest belief that he would have found his own way to damnation, but I will never know that. I helped him on a path that led to his destruction – not merely his death, but his ruination as a man. I must bear that shame."

"He had a choice, Professor," said Harry.

"And so did I, Harry, so did I. Well, it was as it was. I felt that if I did not let slip Lord Voldemort's location, then Quirrell would set out on his own path, and I would have no control over what he might do."

"But, had I simply allowed him to seek out Voldemort, that would not have helped me. I needed to attract Voldemort to Hogwarts, where our conflict could be at a time and place of my choosing. I needed a bait too strong for him to refuse. What could be better than the Philosopher's Stone?"

"So you contacted Nicolas Flamel?" said Harry eagerly.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "Really, Harry? After all this time? Tell me, when you were so assiduously searching for some reference to my old friend Nicolas in the Hogwarts library, what did you find?"

"Er… nothing. That is to say, Hermione…"

"Precisely, Harry. If Miss Granger could not find any reference to Nicolas Flamel, then perhaps you should be wondering why."

Harry thought for a moment. "I don't know. Because he was an alchemist, not a wizard?"

"Do you remember your alchemy lessons, Harry?" said Dumbledore gently.

"Er… we never studied alchemy, Professor."

"Of course not, Harry. Nobody does. It is nothing to do with magic. It is, if anything, a Muggle attempt, without access to magic, to achieve the same ends. It led to some interesting Muggle ideas, with which Professor Quirrell was familiar, as Muggle studies was what he used to teach. Nicolas Flamel is a figure from history, Harry. He died many years in the past."

"Surely – surely Professor Quirrell knew this?"

"He did, Harry, and when I introduced the subject to him, he was initially sceptical. However, I continued to drop little hints to him, and to explain the capabilities of the Philosopher's Stone, or Sorcerer's Stone, or whatever you prefer to call it. I do not believe that he was ever fully convinced, but I knew that he would tell Voldemort. Dumbledore has the Philosopher's Stone, he would tell him. He has it stored away. And Voldemort would believe it to be true."

"Why would he believe it? If alchemy doesn't exist…"

Dumbledore sighed. "We all have a tendency, Harry, to believe what we wish to believe. Voldemort thought himself to be cunning, brilliant, better than everyone else – and most of all, better than me. He thought it impossible that I could trick him, so he failed to realize when I did. Most of all he wanted – he needed it to be true. Needed some way to return to a living form. He convinced himself that the Philosopher's Stone would do this."

"Meanwhile, the Wizard world was full of rumours about the Stone. Rumours which I set about promulgating. The wizard world is very credulous, Harry. Very credulous and very curious. You have suffered from this over the years, I believe. It was necessary that people came to believe that there was some secret item that I had hidden away, that would master life and death. I do think that adding a little note to my Chocolate Frog Card was rather a neat touch. A holiday in Egypt was easily transformed into an alchemical conference."

"Why did you need to tell anyone but Quirrell?"

"That is a matter of the kind of person Tom Riddle was. An abandoned child, an orphan, who was determined to demonstrate his own independence, his own superiority. It's a very sad story, Harry. You know better than anyone how hard it is to be left alone, with nobody who cares for you. In your case, you became a better person. Tom Riddle…"

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "I believe that the damage had been done by the time I met young Tom – that there was nothing I could have done. Still, there is this sense of _failure_ – of a huge loss, a terrible pity. When someone is damaged so much, they may achieve a great deal, but they remain a less functional human being, Harry. Their potential is wasted."

"Tom Riddle always believed whatever made him appear the more insightful, the cleverer person. There were vague rumours about some magical item that he, the brilliant Lord Voldemort, knew about better than anyone. He would not have accepted the information if it were only from Quirrell. He needed to see through obscure clues – clues planted in order that he decipher them to what I intended him to think."

"Then it was a matter of informing Quirrell where the stone might be concealed. I could not just tell him. That would have roused suspicions. This involved a degree of subtlety. I gave Rubeus Hagrid a mission. A mission to be undertaken with the greatest degree of secrecy." 

"You know, Harry, Hagrid is perhaps the most noticeable person in the school. His very presence in Diagon Alley attracts attention. Then, of course, he drops dark hints to a few trustworthy people, about special missions for Dumbledore and 'it's a matter between him and Nicolas Flamel'. All with Professor Quirrell lurking around, taking it all in."

"Was Hagrid told about the plan, Professor?"

Dumbledore laughed. "Harry, I trust Hagrid more than anyone else I have ever met. However, I knew that his simple honesty – a quality greatly to be admired – meant that it would not have been safe to tell him of my true intentions. To Lord Voldemort, who trusts no-one and who confides none of his deep secrets, my genuine trust in Hagrid would mean that he would see nothing surprising in my telling him confidential matters that he would be sure to give away."

Harry thought for a moment. "But… Professor, Hagrid was supposed to be collecting the Stone from Gringotts. If Quirrell knew that the Stone wasn't in Gringotts any more, why did he break into the Hogwarts vault?" asked Harry, frowning.

"He suspected that the Stone had been moved to Hogwarts, but he could not _know._ Nor indeed could I be certain of Quirrell's – and Voldemort's – intentions.

"Hagrid might have told the secret to any number of people," said Harry. He was starting to enjoy piecing together the story – though he felt rather foolish for not realizing much of this before. "Might one of them tried to break into the vault?"

"Indeed so, Harry. However, it was Professor Quirrell, and only Professor Quirrell, that I permitted to learn the secrets of accessing the Hogwarts vault. Voldemort at his full strength might have been able to break into Gringotts – though even he might have had some difficulty. In his wraith form, it would have been quite impossible, and Quirrell – well, the idea is laughable. The only way to break into Gringotts is to have inside help. I ensured that Professor Quirrell had access to the codes and keywords that would allow him to bypass the many safeguards protecting our vault. I had to invite him to my office on six occasions, I believe, before he found them. I had to virtually leave them lying on my desk."

"So Quirrell broke into Gringotts thinking that Hagrid might have brought the Stone there," said Harry slowly, "and when he didn't find it, he knew that the Stone was at Hogwarts."

"Indeed, Harry, indeed. I will note that I changed the codes and keywords as soon as the break-in took place. I implied to the goblins that I might have been careless. They were somewhat upset, but then, I find that goblins usually are."

Dumbledore gave a little smile. "I had asked Quirrell for his assistance – in great secret – in obtaining a guardian for some special papers. He provided me with a troll. Dear me, he was rather naïve to think that I would not notice when an almost identical troll appeared in the school, and that he was the one to announce it. Sometimes, Harry, I had to force myself to bite my tongue. I worried sometimes, whether Voldemort was playing some more subtle game, and was tricking me in the way that I thought I was tricking him. In the end, I was almost disappointed to see how easily he fell into the traps I was setting for him."

"But… what was the trap, Professor? The obstacles…"

"Oh, Harry, that was another great worry. The obstacles were so childishly easy that I feared that Voldemort might realise my intention. I considered making them harder for him, but I feared that they might be too difficult for you and your friends. You see, Harry, _you_ were the trap. I needed Lord Voldemort to attempt to destroy you in person – and thus destroy himself. Of course, it didn't work out quite as I'd hoped…"

Harry thought back over that first adventure. "So… the chess game, the puzzle with the potions… that was all…"

"It was all intended for you to find your way through. A chess game, crafted to be just short of defeating a talented but not over-intelligent twelve-year-old. A logic puzzle, set up to allow Miss Granger to congratulate herself. Simple monsters. You were fortunate that you did not have to face the troll, but after all, you had defeated one earlier. I even allowed you to demonstrate your Quidditch skills. Naturally, none of this served to impede Voldemort in any significant way."

"The only potential hazard was Hagrid's contribution. I had very clearly specified from each of the staff what kind of obstacle I wanted. Hagrid was asked to provide a slightly ferocious beast. You have seen the kind of creatures Hagrid considers harmless. It is unsurprising that he would produce a literal hell-hound."

"Didn't Voldemort suspect? That things were too easy?" It didn't seem easy at the time, though, thought Harry. "I mean… you've always said that he was brilliant. Clever brilliant, not that you thought he was good…" I'm babbling. I'm twelve again, thought Harry.

"Oh, he was. He was. The thing is, Harry, Voldemort was very clever, but he had no common sense whatsoever. In some ways, he was a complete fool. Just look at the man. A clever, charming boy, well able to become a leader, and to have anything he wanted, and he turned himself into a noseless freak, with a mob of insane, deluded followers. No, he convinced himself that the trivial obstacles were easy because he was the most powerful, most clever, most ruthless of wizards, and poor Professor Dumbledore was a babbling old fool."

Dumbledore frowned. "Don't underestimate your enemies, Harry. Don't overestimate your own abilities. Thinking too well of himself was Voldemort's major flaw. So, Voldemort and Quirrell made their way to the final chamber where they were confronted with the mirror of Erised. The Stone, of course, was nowhere to be seen."

"You'd hidden it with a spell, so that it would only…" Harry ground to a halt when he saw Dumbledore smiling.

"That would have been needlessly complex, Harry. I placed a stone in your pocket earlier that evening. The only magic was a simple charm to ensure that you would not notice it until you reached the mirror. I did not know how closely you would follow Voldemort. I had, after all, strictly forbidden you to do so. I suppose it was possible that you might have obeyed school rules and with some regard for your personal safety, stayed in bed – in which case I would have had to find some way to motivate you. I later came to realise that nothing could stop you sneaking around the castle at night, especially when I ensured that you possessed tools like the Cloak of Invisibility and the Marauders' Map."

Dumbledore paused for a moment. "Ah, yes. If I had hidden the stone – or _a_ stone, at any rate – then I could not be sure that Voldemort or even Quirrell might not find it, and be gone before you reached them. If the Stone was not there, then they could be expected to spend a good long time looking for it. As it was, you were hard on their heels."

"With the obstacles that we thought were so dangerous, but really you'd designed them for us," said Harry, wryly.

"Not just to allow you through – to ensure that Mr Weasley and Miss Granger were sent back. They did not have your special protection, Harry, and I did not want to risk them coming to any harm. Poor Cedric Diggory was lost in that way, alas." They both sat in silence for a moment.

"Well, well. Life is a stern trial, sometimes. I would not have wished to outlive any of my pupils, but it is not always up to us. I wanted to protect Miss Granger and Mr Weasley, but also I needed a pretext to be summoned. I had not, of course, gone to the Ministry, though I gave every appearance that I had done so. When Miss Granger appeared with her warning, I was delighted to be able to time things to perfection. The unfortunate Quirrell was a pile of dust. The Dark Lord, however…" Dumbledore shook his head.

"So… you thought I would destroy Voldemort – but it didn't happen. Why?"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Why did I think so, or why did it not happen? Well, Harry, I thought so because in your first encounter, you nearly did destroy Voldemort. My guess was that a second dose of whatever you did to him might finish him off. As to why this did not happen – I believe that you know this."

Harry nodded. "The Horcruxes. I could hurt him, but he couldn't die. I'd destroyed whatever was left of him, but they were keeping him alive. Sort of."

"This was in many ways a defeat for us. Lord Voldemort was not killed. He was back in the same state in which I had found him. But he felt himself more secure. The thing he might have feared – your protective spell – might continue to protect you, but it would not suffice to destroy him. He had overcome the terror which had kept him hidden, and from that time on he would devote his not inconsiderable intellect to plotting his return."

"However, Harry, I had also gained invaluable information. I now understood to a far greater extent what was necessary to destroy Lord Voldemort. We also did something else that was very important. We ensured that Voldemort regarded you as his greatest enemy. Who knows what he might have done were he not to become obsessed with Harry Potter, the alter-ego, the nemesis?"

Harry was suddenly seized with a feeling of intense bitterness. "So you set me up as Voldemort's greatest enemy. An eleven-year-old boy."

Dumbledore nodded. "Harry, you've known this for many years, now. I knew from the moment of your parents' death that you were the key to the destruction of Lord Voldemort, and I have made use of you. I do not know what I would have done if you had refused the challenge. As it was, you were always willing. You always made the sacrifice, the risk. I respect this, and I have to tell you – I would do the same thing again."

Harry shook his head. "Forget it. I've always known, I think, since that first year. I wanted it too. Revenge. Justice. Just… wanting him out of the way. Not hurting anyone any more. It seemed important. More important than anything."

"I think it was, Harry," said Dumbledore gently. "What you have done has affected millions of lives, Wizard and Muggle, for the better."

"And what you've done too, Professor," said Harry quickly .

Dumbledore sighed. "I do hope so, Harry. If only I could know for sure. Well, that concludes this little revisionist history. If you fulfil my request, I can tell you much more. Of course, at any time you can withdraw from the arrangement."

"What arrangement, Professor?" asked Harry, bewildered.

"For the next year, Harry, I wish you to take up the post of teaching Defence Against The Dark Arts at Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry,"


	10. 10 - Remembering

Remembering

Mrs Granger sat perfectly upright on the couch, staring straight in front of her. "Christmas," she said, wonderingly. "I always wondered what the fuss was about. It seemed to matter to me when I was a child."

"That was a time for just the three of us," said Hermione softly. She drew a silver line with her wand, linking the vial to her mother. "This will hurt, now."

Mrs Granger screamed. Her vision suddenly turned white, and there was a stabbing pain in her head. She was falling into the white, and it was tearing at her, burning.

"Don't fight it!" a voice came in her ear. "Let it in!"

And there was a small girl, about seven years old, with large teeth and a mop of unruly brown hair. "I _have_ to do it!" the girl shouted, stamping her foot. "It's my _homework!_ "

And she was trying to reason with the girl. "Darling, it's past your bedtime. I'll write a note for your teacher. It's not your fault..."

"If I don't do it then everyone else will hand in their work except me!" wailed the girl.

And then she was telling her husband about it, and they were laughing together. "I had to let her finish it – six sums and a story about witches."

"She gets it from you," he said, giggling.

And then she's frightened, watching as the girl is changing the channels on the TV. The remote control is lost, but the girl is waving at the screen, until a documentary comes on – something about South American reptiles. "Hermione?" she whispers. "Hermione – how are you doing that?"

"Oh, I just do this," says the girl, nonchalantly, waving a hand. "Can't you?"

It was National Geographic - a channel they didn't have. Later that night she tries to tune it in but it isn't there.

And there's a letter, a letter she doesn't understand. It doesn't make any sense – except that it's the only thing that does make sense, the only thing that explains her amazing daughter.

The tiny man perched on an armchair, his legs dangling, sipping tea. "It's always difficult when both parents are Muggles. You've no experience of it, have you? Nothing in your world has prepared you. But you have such an exceptional..."

They both nod. "We've always known how special she was."

"It must be very strange for you, finding out that the world is so different to what you thought."

Her husband smiling. "We've known there was something different ever since she arrived."

She's smiling as well. "We've been expecting – well, not this, but something like this. Before this magic thing, even. She's been… a constant surprise. A delightful surprise."

Talking to her daughter in the kitchen late at night, her husband long asleep. Two girls together, sipping on cold coffee. "I just don't know how he can be so stupid all the time? I mean, Dad isn't like that, is he? Do they grow out of it?"

And she knows that her daughter is suddenly not a little girl, and that she's in love but doesn't know it yet. Talking about the boy she admires and respects, and the other boy who's rude and thoughtless but somehow always around, always there. Don't let her be hurt, don't let him break her heart! Hermione – yes, it's her name, the name she's said more than any other name in her life. Hermione says "What does he see in her? She's good-looking, I suppose...". And she tries to explain.

The increasing fear. The first term, attacked by some horrible creature. Saved by the two boys, who are suddenly her friends. The story told in a light-hearted, dismissive way, but she can tell the real danger, the real terror. She wants to bring her girl home, to safety, but she knows she can't. This is the path she is on.

Every letter, every return home there's more and more. She forces herself to be calm, to listen, to accept, and in return the truth comes out. One best friend is being targeted for assassination. The family of her other friend, the boy she loves without knowing it, they are suffering horribly.

She's having tea with Molly Weasley at King's Cross, and Molly is confiding her own fears. She gives away more than she means to. Molly Weasley, so different but so much in common. Talking about how strange to have a daughter. One moment seeing oneself reflected, another a stranger, a whole new person.

There's a boy, a teenager, someone everyone likes, and he's been murdered. She tries to understand why and it seems there is no reason, nothing beyond mere spite and hatred. Murdered at school. How can that happen?

She finds out that her daughter, her beautiful, intelligent, daughter, is taunted and hated and feared because of her parents. Hermione's always been part of a privileged middle class, but in this new world she's at best tolerated, at worst excluded and despised. She feels helpless rage. Come home, she thinks. Come home where you're safe, and loved. But she never says it.

She talks for hours with her husband about their fears. Sometimes they argue, sometimes they comfort each other. They always end at the same place. Hermione must be let become the person she needs to be.

Dumbledore dies. They've never met him, but feel as if a friend is gone. And the pain is so strong now that she's curled up on the floor, screaming. Hermione has come home, to tell them…

And it stops, and she is whole again. She looks across at her husband, who's staring at her in horror. "It's all right," she says. "It's just filling a cavity."


	11. 11 - A New Job

A New Job

Harry stared. He'd been prepared for all kinds of exotic quests, but this was wholly unexpected. He thought for a moment.

"Wait a minute! Isn't there a curse on the job? You just said that!"

Dumbledore gave a thin smile. "Well, Harry, think back. All the teachers who have held that position have come to, let us say, sticky ends. Except one. Can you tell me who that might be, Harry?"

He thought for a while. They'd all died, or been imprisoned, except, "Lockhart?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Sadly, Gilderoy is still in the process of having his memories restored, bit by bit. When he is well enough, he will probably be transferred to Azkaban. I think the curse had its effect on poor, silly Gilderoy Lockhart."

Harry shook his head. "There's nobody then. I mean, anyone who taught Defence Against The Dark Arts – something terrible happened to them."

"I think you're missing someone," said Dumbledore. "When Dolores Umbridge was teaching the subject – or rather, not teaching it – a group of students selected an alternative teacher, and found a hiding place where lessons could take place. That teacher was you, Harry."

"But… but… I wasn't a real teacher! I just told them… what I knew."

Dumbledore smiled. "What do you think teachers _do_ , Harry? Some of the teachers you had were quite ineffectual. However, when you'd finished with your little group, they were capable of holding their own with a gang of Death Eaters."

"I never had the title, though. I was never really part of the school – I mean, one of the staff. Would the curse even apply?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Harry, if you are going to teach this subject, you must think clearly. Do you imagine that a wizard such as Voldemort would apply a curse that could be thwarted by renaming a job title? The curse did not affect you, not because it was not applicable, but because Voldemort could not curse you. You were immune to the curse for the same reason he was unable to kill you, in so many attempts."

"But Professor… exams! I didn't even take my NEWTs. I don't know what the courses are. I'm barely of age!" Harry still couldn't believe that Dumbledore was serious.

"These would be weighty objections indeed, if I merely wished for someone to fill a post at the school," said Dumbledore. "In this case, as in so many others, I have another purpose in mind."

Harry waited. Dumbledore said nothing.

"Which is?" asked Harry, eventually.

Dumbledore smiled. "I will tell you that purpose, Harry, in time. As you know, I regard the truth which such deep respect and affection that I don't like to waste it all in one go. I like to sip my cup of truth very delicately. There is, after all, only so much to go around."

"So I just do what you say and trust you, even though I don't know anything?" snapped Harry angrily.

Dumbledore beamed. "Precisely! Surely it must be preferable now, compared to when you were doing as I wished without being told?"

"Not really," said Harry curtly. "When I thought I was sneaking around behind your back, I found life a lot easier. Those first three or four years I might have been nearly killed at the end of each year, but at least I thought it was all my own idea."

"But Harry – it was all your own idea. I didn't make you seek the Philosopher's Stone, or break into the Chamber of Secrets, or rescue Sirius Black. It was all you. I merely knew you well enough – or rather, knew your parents, and your upbringing – to surmise what you were likely to do. Your choices were predictable, but entirely free. Your triumphs are all your own."

"Is that what you want to do this time? Let me make the choices?" Harry felt angry. For so many years, he'd had so many enemies to react against – the Dursleys, the Malfoys, Voldemort – that he hadn't time to resent Dumbledore. Now he remembered those months in hiding, not knowing what to do or where to go, and the information he needed withheld by the headmaster. Now his enemies were gone. The Malfoys had been punished, and the Dursleys were back at Privet Drive. Voldemort was dead. For the first time, Harry started to think of Dumbledore as someone who had been manipulating him – bringing about the suffering Harry had endured over many years. It was Dumbledore who had left him with the Dursleys – Dumbledore who had allowed Dolores Umbridge to torture him, had insisted that he take part in the Tri-Wizard tournament.

Yet none of it mattered. The one thing he couldn't forgive – the true source of his anger – was that Dumbledore had died. Like James Potter, like Sirius.

"You have to make the choices, Harry. I trust your decisions as I do not trust my own. You think, perhaps that I have manipulated you through the years. It would be as true to say that you have manipulated me. Every decision I have made, back to before… back to when you were orphaned and alone in the world – everything has been based around you. You are my guide. I know you will follow the right path. I may seem to be leading you, but I am merely following."

"I suppose… we've gone this far. We might as well continue," said Harry dully. This was his last link to Dumbledore. He could not lose it.

"I still trust you Harry, with more than you know – than you can know. Now, if you will excuse me…" Dumbledore clapped his hands and there was a flash of light. Harry blinked for a moment, and when he opened his eyes, Dumbledore was gone.

He stood up and looked around. The portrait of Dumbledore was back. It showed him dozing in his chair, looking peaceful – almost innocent. The Sorting Hat was still muttering. "… and then it's all changed again. Half-bloods into Slytherin. Totally contrary to the whole point of the house. Then a few hundred years later, it's all changed _again_..."

Harry tiptoed past, and crept down the spiral stairs. McGonagall was sitting on a bench, her head resting on her hand, snoring softly. As the gargoyle slid back into place, she awoke with a jump. "Oh, Potter. My goodness. I nearly dropped off. Well, did you say yes?"

"Yes?" said Harry, confused. "Yes to what?"

"To teaching Defence Against The Dark Arts, of course," said McGonagall waspishly. "That is what Professor Dumbledore asked you, is it not?"

"What? No!" said Harry. "Er… I mean, yes. He did. And I did. Say yes. How did you know?"

"I am the headmistress of Hogwarts, Potter. Professor Potter. Dumbledore had his faults, but he was unfailingly polite. He informed me that he was going to ask you to take the post, but assured me that it would be my decision. Well, I would never have turned him down in any case, but you won't be surprised to learn that recruiting for _that_ particular position has been an absolute nightmare. If Dumbledore can reach out from the grave and solve that problem for me, I'd be mad to say no." McGonagall shook her head. "I wake up in the morning with ninety-nine problems, and this, from now on, is not one of them."

"Er… but Professor – I don't have any qualifications to teach. I didn't even take my NEWTs. I don't know what the curriculum is…" Harry babbled.

"Fiddlesticks, Potter! Professor. You know more about facing dark magic than any wizard alive today. Do what most teachers do – in the wizard world, anyway. Read the textbook, and do your best. I saw the results of your teaching in the Battle of Hogwarts. Every one of Dumbledore's Army was like an experienced Auror. That was due to you. You will be excellent in the post. I nearly said that you would be the best for many years, but that would hardly be difficult." McGonagall was walking briskly down the passage as she spoke, and Harry almost had to run to keep up with her.

"Professor – there's a bit of a problem. I have a job. I'm an Auror. I'm supposed to be at work tomorrow morning. We're quite busy actually and…"

Without breaking step, McGonagall pulled an envelope from her pocket and handed it to Harry. "Just use a reading charm, Potter, you'd better watch where you're going."

Harry pulled his wand from his pocket and tapped the envelope, saying "Lire!". A familiar deep voiced boomed out.

"My dear Harry. I have been informed by Professor McGonagall that it was the wish of the late Professor Dumbledore that you should take up the position of Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School, starting immediately. Professor Dumbledore had particular reasons for wishing you to occupy the position at this time – reasons which he has not, at present, chosen to reveal. I consider that to take up such a position is entirely compatible with your role as an investigator for the Auror's Department. You will continue to be employed by the Department at full salary, and we trust that you will keep us informed of any matters which require our attention. The work you had been doing up until now continues to be essential and I'm sure you will be pleased to hear that I have authorised the recruitment of an additional Auror, Mr Ronald Weasley. Yours faithfully, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic (acting), Head Auror (provisional), O.P."

"Well, that's good news, isn't it, Potter? I'd never wish to work anywhere else, but Hogwarts doesn't pay especially well. And a job for Ronald. That's excellent. Now, crouch down because there's a beam half-blocking the corridor here. I haven't had it moved because it's impaling a demon." McGonagall bent almost double and squeezed through a narrow gap formed by the fallen beam and a pile of rubble.

"We would normally turn left here, but a giant broke through and there's a rather dangerous hole in the floor leading to a pit filled with ever-boiling oil that we prepared for the defence of Hogwarts," said McGonagall.

"Do you really still need it?" asked Harry.

"Certainly not," said McGonagall, "but ever-boiling means ever-boiling. The cauldron is filled to the brim and is designed to splash anyone within range. Professor Flitwick set up the trap, but he has no idea how to remove it. I've told him that he had better find out before term starts."

They crept up a narrow, inclined passage that Harry had never encountered before. "There's a lot of architecture in Hogwarts that only appears when necessary," said McGonagall. "It's probably the most magical building in the world. Teachers and the more talented students trying out their ideas, for a thousand years. We really have no idea how it all fits together – ah, here we are."

She tapped twice on what appeared to be a solid stone wall, and it folded inwards, revealing a familiar room. Harry had first seen it when he'd been serving detention with Professor Lockhart – it was the study of the Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher.

"I think you know your way around," said McGonagall. "The classroom is down that staircase, and your bedroom is through the door there. It's all ready for you. One of the house-elves – Winky, I think his name is – insisted on preparing it for you. We'll call you for breakfast at the usual hour. Welcome back, Professor Potter!" She scurried down the staircase and disappeared into the classroom.

Harry looked around at his new home. It looked bare, now. The last occupant had been Amycus Carrow, a sadistic torturer. Snape hadn't used it. There were still smears of pink paint on the walls, from when Dolores Umbridge had occupied it. She'd been unable to access the Headmaster's office, so she'd stayed here until her reign abruptly ended, carried off by centaurs.

Harry began to think about what had happened to the various users of this room. They'd all come to bad ends of various kinds. Lupin's was the worst. He'd found happiness in spite of everything, had married, had a child – and then died at the moment of triumph.

Was he going to suffer a similar fate? Was Dumbledore picking him out again for some kind of sacrifice – offered up against Voldemort's curse? He shook his head slowly and walked into his bedroom.

He'd been expecting a dark, forbidding room like the study. Instead, the bedroom was a blaze of light, a comforting fire roaring in the grate, and bedsheets, turned down. The cover of the bed was in the Gryffindor colours. There was a mug of hot cocoa on the bedside table and… was that a mint on his pillow?

He had never been in this room before, but felt instantly at home. He'd spent most of his life in Privet Drive, but when the time came to leave, he'd gone without a backward glance, and never looked back.

For the last year, he'd been living with the Weasleys. He'd constantly offered to move out, but Molly would never hear of it. A month ago, he'd tried to explain that he was looking for a flat near Diagon Alley, and she'd cried for hours. The shock of Fred's death was almost worse now, as the tumult of the war had died down. Everything else was getting back to normal, but Fred was gone forever. Poor Molly. She would miss him, he knew, and he would miss her.

And Ron would have a job, at last! When Harry had joined the Auror Office a few months ago, he'd set out for London every day with Mr Weasley, leaving Ron behind. He'd worried about Ron. Sometimes he was the same as ever, laughing, chatting – and then he'd drift away. He'd shown no wish to go back to school, or to look for a job. He'd just wanted to stay in the Weasley house with his family – all of them clinging together. Even George, who'd been hardest hit by the loss, had gone back to run the joke shop he'd founded with his twin.

And Hermione? Was she still together with Ron? It was hard to tell. Hermione visited the Weasleys often, but she also spent a lot of time at her family home. Sometimes Ron and Hermione supported each other. Sometimes each found the other's grief a burden too heavy to share.

Harry continued to muse about Ron as he readied himself for bed. Would Ron even accept the Auror's job? If he did, what would Molly Weasley do, alone in the house all day? He lay back in bed, his eyes half-closed, already falling asleep, fatigue suddenly hitting him. At least she'd still have Ginny to keep her company.

Ginny! Harry suddenly sat bolt upright. He'd left the house that morning expecting to return the next day. He'd barely said goodbye. He'd accepted the job at Hogwarts without even discussing it with her. Harry felt a terrible sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. The one thing that was right in his life, one hundred percent perfectly right, and he'd stupidly risked getting it horribly wrong.

He lay back and closed his eyes, but sleep was a long time coming.


	12. 12 - Family Confidences

Family Confidences

The house was spotless now. The Grangers planned to return to their old house as soon as it could be arranged, but they found themselves repulsed by the slovenly lives they had been leading.

"Will there be a problem travelling back?" asked Mrs Granger. "We came here as the Wilkins. If we went back as Grangers, we'd make a bit of a mess of the system, wouldn't we?"

Hermione grimaced. "I keep forgetting about what's needed for the Muggle world," she said. "I suppose you'd better fly back as the Wilkins and then just go home as Grangers."

"Is the house all right?" Mrs Granger couldn't keep a faint note of anxiety out of her voice.

Hermione smiled. "I checked it before I left. It's fine. They weren't interested when they knew you weren't there. There were some footprints in the garden, but that's all. They did a lot more damage to the Burrow."

"Just so your father's roses are all right. I'm looking forward to getting back, but I will miss Australia. At least at this time of year, when it's warm but not too hot."

"You aren't tempted to stay?"

"If we'd come here as Grangers, then perhaps. But I don't think we'd feel right after coming out here as the Wilkins. The Wilkins weren't people I identify with, really."

"They weren't you."

"They were a part of us. That's what made us so miserable, I think. There was so much missing from our lives."

Mrs Granger picked up a cloth and began to polish the mantelpiece, which was already spotless. Then she turned to Hermione with a puzzled look on her face. "And who are you, dear? You're very familiar, but I just can't place you."

Hermione stared at her mother, and after a moment Mrs Granger's eyes widened in horror and she flung her arms around her daughter. "Oh, Hermione, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Just for one moment – it was awful, horrible. Oh, tell me I'm not going to forget again!"

Hermione held her mother tightly. "It's all right, mum. It's a side effect. It will happen for a while as the memories bed back in. You'll have momentary lapses but it's nothing, really. It's like walking into a room and forgetting why you were in there. It will sort itself out. You did the painful work."

"I just…oh dear. I think I'll sit down for a moment. Will you make a cup of tea, dear?"

Hermione brought out the tea and a saucer full of biscuits. They sipped silently for a few minutes.

"I do feel a bit better now. It was just like a bad dream, for a second. Now, dear, tell me about that Ron. Are you together yet? I've been listening to you complain about him for years now."

Suddenly Hermione found herself sobbing uncontrollably. Her mother jumped up and embraced her. "Hermione, darling, what's wrong? Tell me."

Hermione shook her head. "It's not… I don't know what. I mean, we survived, we won. I am with Ron, and I love him. I've always loved him. So why am I crying?"

Mrs Granger patted her daughter's hand. "Tell me what happened. All of it."

Hermione talked for three hours, her mother sitting at her feet. Her father came in from the garden, and refilled the tea – then sat on the couch listening.

"…and now it's all over. I love Ron, and I love all his family. Harry is my best friend in the world. Everyone is doing well. So… why should I be unhappy now? A year ago, when we were being chased by people trying to kill us – I wasn't unhappy. Really. Not after Ron came back. What is wrong with me?"

Mr Granger leaned forward, the tips of his fingers pressed together. "Hermione – there was something you mentioned. Something I think you didn't want to describe. When you were captured by that Strange woman…"

"Lestrange."

"…Lestrange, she did something to you. While Harry and Ron were in the cellar downstairs. You didn't want to talk about it."

Hermione held her hand up to her throat, touching the faint scar. "It wasn't…I mean, Dobby was killed. Peter Pettigrew died. I wasn't hurt, really…"

Mr Granger leaned forward. "I think you were hurt, dear. I think that you're feeling vulnerable about it, and angry."

"Of course I'm angry!" snapped Hermione. "Bellatrix _tortured_ me. She murdered Dobby and Sirius. She tried to kill all of us."

"It isn't Beatrice…"

"Bellatrix."

"…Bellatrix that you're angry with, though, is it? Not really."

Hermione turned her head away. "He couldn't do anything. He was terribly upset hearing me suffer. He rescued me when he had the chance. And… it was Harry. Harry made the mistake, said the name. Not Ron."

"But he didn't stop it, did he? He wasn't there when you needed him."

Hermione began to sob. "I love him, and he, he didn't do anything wrong. I mean, he did, when he ran off and left us. And I was so angry about that, but I got over it. And he was so understanding and kind when I was recovering… but I can't help thinking about when she was hurting me, and he couldn't help."

Mr Granger reached across and grasped Hermione's hand. Mrs Granger stroked her hair.

"We've known you a long time, little girl. We don't understand this world you've entered into, but we can tell when you're unsure and worried. We like Ron. We like his family. But you have to trust him, you have to be able to rely on him."

Hermione turned back to her mother. "Mum? What do you think? About Ron?"

Her mother smiled. "Oh, Hermione! Every time you came home from the holidays, you'd have some story about how annoying Ron was. Then it turned out he'd stood up for you in some way. Spoke back to Professor Snape, or fought a troll, whatever that is. Tried to cast a spell on that horrible Malfoy boy and had it rebound on him. We've never had any doubts about Ron, but it doesn't matter how _we_ feel about him."

Hermione thought for a moment. "It was… when Bellatrix hurt me – I really thought Ron would do something. And it's so unfair. He rescued me, and I somehow knew that he would. But I still felt… yes, I was angry with him. I blamed him for letting Bellatrix do that to me. And I couldn't tell him because it would hurt him so much, and I thought it would go away, but it didn't. I can't stop thinking about it."

She bit her lip. "I'd suppressed it, I suppose. And then, when I had to watch you both – in such pain, that I'd caused..."

Her parents began to interrupt, and she held up a hand. "I know, I know that there was no good alternative. It had to be done. But watching you suffer like that..."

"Anyway. I can't tell Ron how I feel. He's still very fragile. He's suffered so much more than me. And, and you've been… well, gone. So, I've been bottling everything up." She wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. "I don't know what I'm going to do, but at least it feels better to talk to somebody about it."

Her mother patted her hand. "You can always talk to us, if you can't say anything to Ron, or his family, or Harry." She stood up. "We're very proud of you, you know. All that you've done. You take on a lot, and you need to lean on someone sometimes. Now, I think I'd better write to Arthur and Molly."


	13. 13 - I'm Going Back To Hogwarts

I'm Going Back To Hogwarts

Harry awoke late the next morning, having, in spite of his worries about Ginny and Molly, slept very soundly. He hadn't dreamed at all. He yawned, stood up, and walked into the little bathroom. There was a large, ornate mirror over the sink, and Harry stared into it, opening his mouth and rubbing his teeth. He gave a yell and jumped back when he saw Professor McGonagall looking back at him.

"Ah, Potter, good morning. I hope you slept well. Oh, you didn't know about the mirrors? Don't worry, they only display us when we're decent. I'll collect you for breakfast in the Great Hall in twenty minutes, if that's quite all right," said McGonagall, her voice sounding slightly tinny.

"Er… um… of course," said Harry, completely nonplussed. He'd been at Hogwarts for six years, and had thought he knew the place very well, but clearly the life of a Professor was quite different to that of a student. They could talk through mirrors? Well, they would need some way to keep in touch.

He was barely washed and dressed when he heard McGonagall calling from the foot of the staircase. "Are you ready, Potter? I can come back later."

"Down in a sec, Professor," he called, casting a Doubleknot charm on his shoelaces.

He scampered down the stairs, feeling oddly out of place, and yet entirely at home. He was a Professor now, a member of the Hogwarts staff, even if there were no pupils at the school for several weeks. How would he manage it? Harry tried to visualise himself standing in front of a class, but he couldn't.

McGonagall was striding out again, down corridors and up staircases that seemed vaguely familiar to Harry, but which he was fairly sure he'd never seen before. "Take careful note, Potter," said McGonagall. "I can't show you around every day."

Harry felt in his pocket for the familiar shape of the Marauder's Map. He was fairly confident that he wouldn't get lost in Hogwarts.

"Er, Professor," he said, scurrying. "I wonder – this has all been a bit sudden, and I really need to talk to Gin…"

"Of course, Potter!" exclaimed McGonagall. "That's only natural. I'll arrange for you to talk to anyone you wish after breakfast."

"Thanks, Professor," said Harry. "You see, because Ginny and I are…"

"Potter!" exclaimed McGonagall. "I am afraid that there are certain matters relating to your personal life which it might be better that we did not discuss."

Harry stared at her, totally confused. "Like what?" he eventually asked.

She avoided his gaze. "I would rather not say. Indeed, I cannot say. I might hint that it relates to something which you were about to say… about somebody… and it is better, for both of us, that we don't discuss it. That is, if you are to be a Professor at Hogwarts."

"Um… I see," said Harry, not seeing at all. "I won't mention it then. Only… I do need to talk to…"

"…someone at the Weasley's, perhaps? You've been staying with them. Of course. Molly, or if she's out… one of the others."

"That will be fine," said Harry. Was McGonagall mad? Why didn't she want him to talk about Ginny? Ginny was nothing to do with her any more.

"We'll have to crouch down here, Potter. There you go, just turn sideways. And here we are," said McGonagall as they squeezed through a gap a little over a foot wide.

It was the Great Hall. The last time Harry had seen it, it had been a pitiful sight. Fred Weasley and many others were lying there, dead and injured. They'd had a triumph, but there was too much sadness to cherish the victory. Now, while he still mourned, he could feel the lifting of the burden that had been on him for so many years. Here he was, in the Hall that had been his introduction to Hogwarts, the place where he had been picked for Gryffindor, where he'd feasted with his friends - and enemies – where the whole school, except a handful of Slytherins, had stood up for him against Voldemort.

It was as it had been back when he'd first arrived. There was no sign of any damage. The roof showed a clear blue sky. The tables were neatly in rows, though empty. McGonagall came up behind Harry as he was staring at it, his mouth open.

"We couldn't fix the whole building. There's still massive damage. This, though – this is the heart of Hogwarts. When the new students arrive – they have to see this as it should be." She patted him on the shoulder. "Come and sit down, Potter. Professor Potter."

She led him to the table, with the familiar faces of the Hogwarts staff. As he approached, several of them turned their heads and murmured to each other. Flitwick stood on his chair and gave Harry a huge, beaming grin.

McGonagall ushered Harry to a place next to her seat. It was where Dumbledore used to sit, though it wasn't his chair. She waited for Harry to sit down, and then tapped twice on a glass with a spoon.

"Ahem. Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. As you know, we have not had a Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher for a year now. I am pleased to say that the post has now been filled – by Professor Harry Potter."

McGonagall was unable to continue as her voice was drowned out in a wave of clapping and applause. The various teachers crowded around, and reached across the table to shake Harry's hand.

"An excellent choice! An excellent choice!" squeaked Flitwick.

"I knew this would happen, Potter," said Sybil Trelawney, her voice triumphant. "It was in the _leaves_ , in the _crystal_. The horse wouldn't see such things, of course. He lacks the true sight."

Professor Slughorn elbowed his way through the crowd and grasped Harry's hand. "I recognised something in you, Harry," he boomed, "a quality that many would miss. I am not surprised, no, I am not surprised."

Everyone seemed to be there, thought Harry. All of them, even Professor Trelawney, who rarely ventured from the North Tower. Except – Madame Hooch? And Hagrid, of course, but Hagrid never took breakfast in the Great Hall, even after he had joined the staff. He continued to prefer stews made with food he'd gathered, killed or grown. (Or sometimes, Harry suspected, found).

Harry found himself sitting among the professors, having breakfast – something that up until a few hours ago, he could never have imagined happening. He felt completely out of place, and kept waiting for one of them to reprimand him and send him down to the Gryffindor table.

The food was just like what he'd had as a student. The atmosphere was no different either – each of the teachers talking, eating, arguing and laughing. Had they been like this when he'd watched them, up on the dais while he ate down in the Hall? He supposed they must have been. He'd always been too busy to notice. There did seem a greater ease among them. Perhaps it was what they had been through together.

They seemed to accept him totally. Wasn't it strange to have somebody who'd been a pupil only a short while before, suddenly become a Professor? Then he thought about it. Weren't most of the Professors former Hogwarts students? Lupin and Snape had been in the same year, and became firm enemies. It must have seemed just as odd for them, suddenly finding themselves at the other end of the classroom – sitting at this table, as colleagues.

Harry suddenly noticed that Professor Slughorn was asking him something about lesson plans. "Er… actually, I have no idea what I'll be teaching," he confessed. There was a sudden silence.

He felt compelled to explain. "It's just that… this was sort of unexpected. I was …". He looked for the right word.

"Railroaded, Professor?" said McGonagall wryly.

"No, no!" said Harry, smiling. "But it was just a bit… sudden."

"Didn't expect to be teaching, eh?" said Slughorn jovially. "My dear boy, feel free to call on me. The first year is always the most difficult, but after that it's a matter of routine. I'll show you how I prepare for potions, and you can see what works for you."

"Just remember – they're more frightened of you that you are of them," squeaked Flitwick, and everyone laughed.

"I have the details of the curriculum, Professor," said McGonagall. "It gives a rough outline of what each year is expected to learn. I'm sure you'll have no problem with any of it."

"Somebody told me that you had your own classes hidden away in the Room of Requirements, back when that Umbridge woman was here," said Slughorn. "What did you call it?"

"Dumbledore's Army!" said Flitwick triumphantly. "We saw how well they did when they really needed their training. You'll be a very good teacher, Potter, very good."

Would he, thought Harry? It was one thing teaching a group of students who wanted to learn how to fight evil wizards. It was quite another to get whole classes through their OWLS and NEWTS. He would have to do a lot of reading before he'd be ready for his first class.

Breakfast was soon over, and the professors dispersed, talking animatedly. Clearly Harry's appointment was as much of a surprise to them as it was to him. Harry took a last bite of toast and stood up.

"Well, I think we can arrange for you to contact the Weasleys now, Potter," said Professor McGonagall. "Perhaps the Gryffindor Common Room would be best. I find that the fireplaces in the various classrooms have been somewhat contaminated over the years by magic, and it's difficult to get a good signal. You could use the fireplace in your study, but it generally works better if it's somewhere that you're familiar with."

The route to the Gryffindor tower was much as Harry remembered it, though the tower itself had been burnt and blasted from various attacks. Most of the pictures were still in place, though, and the Fat Lady swung aside at a word from Professor McGonagall. "No password until the start of term," she said.

There was a fire blazing in the grate. Harry rushed over to the fireplace, wondering how he would explain to Ginny about his new job.

"I'll leave you, then, Potter," said McGonagall. Her voice was slightly strained. "You must want to talk to… Molly."

"Actually, it's mostly…oh." Harry turned to look, but McGonagall was gone. He turned back to the fire. He didn't quite know how to initiate the spell that would link him to a fire at the Weasleys. He'd hoped that McGonagall would show him how. It was one of the spells that he would have learned in his final year – the year which he'd spent hunting Horcruxes and fighting Voldemort.

But suddenly the familiar features of Ginny Weasley formed in the coals, staring at him in delight. "Harry!" she said excitedly. "McGonagall sent an owl last night telling us you'd be calling. Mum made a fire this morning especially."

"Ginny, there's something I need to tell you," said Harry hesitantly. He'd been looking forward to speaking to Ginny, but he didn't know quite how to tell her his news.

"Er… there's something I need to say first," said Ginny.

"I really think that this is…" Harry began.

"This is actually…" said Ginny.

"I'm going back to Hogwarts," they said in unison.

"What!" shouted Harry.

"Eh?" said Ginny. "Oh wow! That's actually quite cool. We'll both be in the same class."

"Er… no," said Harry. "I'm not coming back to finish school. I'm sort of the new Defence Against The Dark Arts Teacher."

"What?" snapped Ginny. Her eyes glowed red. "Where did this come from? You have a job."

"I know, but Kingsley said it was OK. It's Dumbledore – he said that he wanted me."

Ginny looked at him intently. "Dumbledore left a letter saying that he wanted you to teach at Hogwarts?" she asked.

"Well, in a way. He left a message in the Pensieve. It's part of some…plan."

Ginny sighed. "I'd really thought that we were over the whole 'Dumbledore wants me to swim to Brazil' thing."

"No, but look, it's good," stammered Harry. "We'll be together at Hogwarts, just like you said. Not in the same class, but…"

"Oh, Harry," snapped Ginny, "it's completely different. You can't go out with one of the students if you're a professor. That would never be allowed."

"Oh. Oh, I see now why McGonagall was so weird about talking about you now. She didn't want me to say that we were…"

"Boyfriend and girlfriend? No, but she must know. I suppose that she's terrified that you'll tell her that we're an item and she'll have to insist that we break up. If you don't tell her, she doesn't have to deal with it, and she'll trust us to be discrete."

Ginny paused. "You still have your invisibility cloak, don't you?"

Harry thought for a moment, and was about to reply when the coals making up Ginny's head suddenly fell apart, and the familiar features of Ron Weasley pushed their way up.

"Mate! Did you hear?" Ron sounded as excited, more excited than Harry had seen him since the day Fred had died. "Kingsley came to the house yesterday and told Dad that he wants me to join the Auror's Department! Me – an Auror!"

"That's brilliant, Ron," said Harry sincerely. He was as pleased by Ron's reaction as he was at the news.

"I'm going in to the office next week. I'll travel with Dad. I can't wait! I always thought Aurors were so cool. You know, when Mad-Eye was teaching us. Of course he turned out to be a Death Eater, not an Auror, but…"

Ron's head burst apart, and Ginny reappeared in the flames. "…so rude, Ron. Harry, we have to be very careful what we say and do. You could be sacked if anyone realised. I could be expelled. Do you remember how Professor Lockhart was nearly in trouble, and all he was doing was talking to some of the older girls."

Harry nodded agreement. "Maybe we can see each other at Quidditch. You'll be captaining the team, I expect?"

Ginny nodded, and ash poured onto the hearth. "If asked. I wasn't sure whether to go back really, but it was Quidditch that decided me. I really want to get as good as I can, and there's this rumour… well, never mind, it's not important."

This sounded suspicious to Harry, but then a thought struck him. "Hang on, Ginny, what about your mum? She won't have anyone at home now."

Ginny suddenly appeared to be crying, though it was impossible to see tears on the glowing face. "Oh, Harry, she was so brave. It was when Kingsley came to ask Ron to be an Auror. You could tell that she wanted to ask him to stay at home, and then quite suddenly she was totally different. He was messing about saying he wasn't sure if he could take the job, and she just insisted that he would. Then she said that I was going back to school to take my NEWTs. 'I should never have let you stay out for a year, but you're going to finish your education. I've been selfish.' Imagine, Mum selfish! She said she's spent enough time hiding away, and that we all had to start living again, for Fred."

The right-hand side of Ron's face popped up beside Ginny. "She said that Fred always lived his life to the full, and that now he's gone, we have to do it for him. She's going to see her old friends, and she might even get a job in the Muggle shop in the village." Ron sounded as emotional as Harry had ever heard him.

"Your mum's brilliant," said Harry, "and she always was. Is she there?"

"She's gone out for a walk," said Ginny, pushing Ron so his stack of coals fell out the side of the grate. "She was a bit overwhelmed by herself."

"Tell her I said…" Harry was suddenly overwhelmed himself by how much he wanted to say to Molly Weasley. "Tell her I'll write her a letter."

"It'll be fun to get back," said Ginny thoughtfully. "I even want to get my exams done, just to finish up everything. Ron, don't you want to do your NEWTs?"

Ginny's head rattled to pieces, and resolved into Ron's.

"You must be kidding. OWLs nearly killed me. I have a job now, so why would I want to go back to school? You said exactly that to me last week, Harry, come to think of it. They didn't offer _me_ a teaching job, you know."

Harry remembered now – the awkward conversation with Ron where he'd first suggested that Ron take his exams. He had indeed said almost exactly that – that he'd never do his exams now that he had the job he'd always wanted. Fair enough for Ron to feel the same way.

"Mate, look – I know I didn't say, but it really got on my nerves when you had a job and I didn't. I was thinking of asking Kingsley, but, you know…"

Harry grinned and nodded. "I know. Suppose he said no…"

"Or worse, suppose he was all like, well, in light of your services to the wizarding world, we'll give you this job but we all know you can't do it. _That_ would have been bloody awful." Ron shook his head and a piece of burning coal flew out onto the rug. Harry grabbed it with the tongs and set it on the hearth.

"Dad could have got me a job at the ministry, but honestly! Reviewing cauldron importation regulations like Percy! I'd sooner work in the Muggle shop like Mum."

"Ron – is she really OK?" Harry couldn't stop his voice from catching a little.

"Harry – she really is. It took time, you know? It took time for all of us."

The three of them chatted for another hour. Ginny hardly mentioned her NEWT's, concentrating on her plans for the Quidditch team. Ron pestered Harry with questions about working as an Auror. Harry mostly listened, wondering how he'd possibly cope with this new job.

"Oh, my goodness – Harry, we have to go," said Ginny suddenly. "We promised to meet Mum in the village. We'll have to apparate."

"Yeah, see you, mate," said Ron. Harry wished that Ron had gone a little earlier, to give him a bit of privacy with Ginny.

"Bye, then. Talk soon…"

The two faces sank back into the fire – but suddenly a new head appeared.

"Hermione? Where are you calling from?"

"Australia! We're having a farewell barbecue in the back yard. It's so difficult to get through, and then you were talking to someone else. Why are you in Hogwarts?"

Harry quickly explained. "Harry! That's wonderful. I've a bit of news myself. I'm going back to Hogwarts too."

"As a pupil? Or as a professor?"

Harry was sure that Hermione had the expression that appeared when she was pondering a problem, but her face in the fire wasn't detailed enough to tell.

"Well, neither really. Or maybe sort of both. I decided that I wanted to take my NEWTs. It's really important to have qualifications, you know. I asked Professor McGonagall and she said that I would easily pass my NEWTs with what I know now – well, I'm sure that's not true, I'm very weak on transfiguration for one thing – but anyway, she asked if I would be willing to do some teaching and coaching for some of the pupils, and that I could take my NEWTs at the end of the year, and I would get paid as well, which would be quite nice."

Harry had never thought about Hermione needing money. Her parents – both dentists – were well off in the Muggle world, but that didn't translate into wizarding wealth. With Harry, it was just the opposite. He had had plenty of wizard money, but in the Muggle world he was desperately poor. The Dursleys had grudged him every penny. It suddenly occurred to him that if he'd arranged to change money with the Grangers they would both have benefited. He shrugged. There was so much he could have done differently, if he'd had time to stop and think about things.

"Harry? What do you think?"

"I think it's really good. I kind of felt that we'd been taken away from Hogwarts without a chance to say goodbye."

Hermione nodded. "That's just how I felt. When the battle was over… I just wanted to get away. Back to my family, back with just a few friends. I hated seeing what happened to the building, the people… but now, it's different. I miss it. I'd like to finish properly."

"That's really great, Hermione. You know I used to rely on you to get through everything…"

"Oh, rubbish, Harry. You could work when you wanted to. Now Ron…"

They were both smiling. "I'll be asking you for help twice as much if we're both teaching," said Harry.

"What? I don't know anything about teaching, Harry. You're the leader. I'm just planning to do what you did with the Quidditch team and Dumbledore's army. I just hope that I can do half as good a job."

Harry stared at her. "If you think I can be a teacher, Hermione, then maybe it really is possible."

"You are a teacher, Harry. Can I admit something embarrassing?"

Harry grinned. "I'd love you to."

"I could never understand why I had the best marks in everything, but somehow you were better in Defence Against The Dark Arts. I used to go over and over the books and practice the spells, and I was honestly jealous of you."

Harry remembered how Hermione had tried to conceal her frustration at the one exam where she'd failed to score an Outstanding.

"Since everything that happened – seeing you fighting and doing it… well, for real – I understood. I knew _why_ you were so good. I remembered what I knew back in first year. Harry, you're a great wizard, you know. You'll be a great teacher. I'm looking forward to your classes."

For a moment Harry couldn't speak. He knew how talented Hermione was, and to have her respect was suddenly overwhelming.

He forced a laugh. "I'll still need you to help me with the coursework. You always knew it better than the teachers anyway."

Even through the haze of the burning coals, Harry could see the affection in the look she gave him. "I think we'll look after each other, like we always do. Right, I'd better go. I want to spend as much time as I can with Mum and Dad before term starts. We're coming home next week."

"Bye then," said Harry. He continued staring at the flames long after Hermione had disappeared.

Harry would have like to have spent the summer holidays at the Burrow, but realised that he would need some time learning about his new job. Professor McGonagall was diligent in explaining the duties of a Hogwarts teacher, but surprisingly, it was Professor Slughorn's advice that was most helpful. "Teach 'em what you know," he said, slapping Harry on the back, "and if you don't know it, leave it alone until you do. Bless you, none of us know everything we're supposed to. If you're one day ahead of the class then they think you're God." Slughorn was a far less scrupulous teacher than McGonagall, but his experience was invaluable.

"The stupid pupils will never be a problem," he told Harry as they were sitting in his office, sipping firewhiskey as they sat in a pair of extremely comfortable matching armchairs. "The very clever ones will do the work themselves. The lazy ones will avoid catching your eye. The ones that cause the trouble are the curious ones – always asking you questions about something you don't know." He suddenly looked away, and Harry knew he'd reminded himself about the day when Tom Riddle had asked him about Horcruxes.

He turned back and forced a smile. "I used to rely on Miss Grainger in your class. Someone would ask a question that would have me stumped, and I'd say 'Would anyone like to answer that?'. Nine times out of ten she'd come up with the goods. Find one like that and you'll do all right."

Harry shook his head. "I don't think there are many like her, Professor." Slughorn nodded in agreement.

McGonagall made sure Harry knew about all the various spells he would need to do the job. "Once you're officially on the staff, you can grant or remove points simply by saying 'five points to so-and-so', or 'ten points from this one'. We recommend that you allocate points sparingly at first. It's a useful disciplinary tool but it has been abused in the past, and that tends to cause exactly the kind of bad feeling I want to end."

Harry nodded at her. "I remember certain teachers who never took points from their own house, always from others."

McGonagall looked at him over her spectacles. "Well, de mortuis nil nisi bonum, Professor."

Harry stayed at Hogwarts for another three weeks. At times he thought he would manage without any trouble – and then he found the whole idea impossible. But at last there came a point where he felt confident – of at least standing in front of a class without making a fool of himself. He made his way to McGonagall's office.

"Professor? I'd like to go back to the Burrow, if that's all right. I have all the books and materials I need, and I'll study them until the start of term. But…" He let the sentence hang. He didn't want to say that he missed Ginny, and longed to see her again.

"That's perfectly fine, professor," said McGonagall, briskly. "I think you understand how it all works. It's so much easier with former pupils, especially if they've only left a short while ago. We'll arrange a train for tomorrow, if that suits you."


	14. 14 - The Birthday Present

The Birthday Present

It was early morning, and Harry was alone in the Weasley's kitchen. He had returned from Hogwarts as soon as he possibly could. A crateful of books had followed him, with the various teaching materials for Defence Against The Dark Arts for all seven years.

The family had sat up late, celebrating Ron's new job, and Ginny and Harry's return to Hogwarts, and they were still asleep. Harry had woken early. He'd wandered downstairs and made himself a cup of coffee. It was strange, given the terrifying adventures that had occupied much of his childhood, that he should be so nervous about his new job. He'd spent almost every waking hour studying the course. So much of it seemed to be pointless theorising and ancient history. What was the point of describing some monster last seen in the 1500's in North Wales?

He was surprised to see an owl sitting patiently on the window ledge. He wondered who it might be from. Hermione had written regularly, but two large letters had arrived only yesterday.

He raised the window and the owl presented him with a letter. The envelope was of plain white paper rather than parchment. Harry tossed the owl a silver coin and looked at the address, which was printed rather than written. It said "Harry Potter, Box 99, Little Whingeing, Surrey". Over this was scrawled in a typical wizard hand "redirected by the Muggle/Wizard postal service: The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon". It was the same service that the Dursley family had used on the rare occasions when they had written to him at Hogwarts. He hadn't had a letter since he'd left their house forever.

He tore it open and there was a single sheet inside – again, printed. The contents were brief – "Dear Harry, hope you are well. I have important news for you. Please meet me beside the Albert Memorial at 12 noon the day before your birthday. Tell no-one. Your affectionate cousin Dudley."

Harry frowned to himself. He had hardly thought about the Dursleys since leaving Privet Drive. His mother's sister had brought him up, but had never showed him affection. Worse, she had never told him anything about his mother – something he'd never been able to forgive. Still, they were his only living relatives. He'd made some kind of peace with Dudley when they last spoke. What could he possibly want?

The door to the kitchen opened and Arthur Weasley wandered in, yawning. "What's that, Harry?" he asked. "Another mysterious missive?"

Harry nodded. "At least it's from someone who's still alive this time," he said. "Arthur, I'm afraid I'm going to have to go. My cousin…" He tailed off, finding it difficult to explain to one of the Weasleys how remote close relatives could be.

"Cousin, Harry? Not that awful boy who used to bully you? Well, blood's thicker than water, I suppose."

Harry tried to remember where the Albert Memorial was. "I think I'll need to use the Floo Network, then apparate. I don't know London very well."

"I'll just get down the V to X," said Arthur. "I always use it when I go somewhere new." He reached to an upper shelf and took down a huge leather-bound volume.

Arthur was easily able to interpret the book, and Harry was able to find a direct Floo link to the Albert Hall. The Weasleys had a preference for the Floo network, and were very skilled at using it to get around the country. Ron in particular had formed a dislike for apparating, after his splinching accident.

He flung a pinch of Floo powder into the Weasley's huge fireplace, stepped into the emerald fire and said "Albert Hall". He felt himself starting to spin, and a succession of rooms presented themselves to him in turn, flashing in front of his eyes more and more quickly. Suddenly they stopped and he found himself flung on the floor in a room full of dusty musical instruments, mostly in a state of disrepair.

He wasn't surprised to see that the dirty floor was covered in footprints. The Floo network was available to all wizards, and was frequently busy. He crept to the door and peered out. This particular fireplace was marked "Warning – Muggle area" and wizards were cautioned to avoid being noticed. Harry wandered through a maze of corridors, and eventually found an exit to the street.

He was momentarily lost, but realised that the Albert Memorial was clearly visible a short walk away. He broke into a trot. The roads were almost empty, and it was misty and cold.

Kensington Gardens were quiet, but there were a number of people strolling around. A young woman jogging smiled at Harry as she went passed. For a second he thought he recognised her, but felt embarrassed to look around. He passed a tramp muttering to himself, who gave a start as he ran past.

He could see the silhouette of a bulky young man standing alone in front of the memorial, holding the handle of a small wheeled suitcase. He looked familiar, but surely that couldn't be Dudley? He'd lost a lot of weight.

He slowed down, not wanting to look too eager. Yes, it was Dudley, though far less pudgy than when Harry had last seen him. His face was thinner, his expression less petulant.

He looked up as Harry approached. "Harry. What do you want then?"

"What do _I_ want?" said Harry. "You asked to meet me!"

"No, I asked to see both of you," said a voice from above them.

Harry looked up and saw another familiar face. Gregory Goyle stood high on the Albert Memorial, among the statues of various famous Muggles, his wand levelled at Harry. Harry hadn't seen him since he'd rescued him from the flames of the Room of Requirement. Clearly, he wasn't feeling grateful.

Harry grabbed for his own wand, but Goyle shouted "Expelliamus!" and it flew from his hand. Goyle sneered and leaped down, floating gently to the ground. "Long time no see, Potter," he said, his face contorted with an evil grin. "Clear off, Muggle. You've done your job."

Dudley stepped forward, glaring, his fists clenched by his side. "Filthy Muggle scum," said Goyle, and swung his wand to point at Dudley. " _Avada_ …"

Almost faster than Harry could see, Dudley jumped at Goyle and snatched his wand from his hand. Goyle stared at him stupidly as Dudley held it in front of his eyes and snapped it in half. "What… what?" he said as Dudley swung a huge fist which smashed into Goyle's nose, sending a spray of blood.

Harry heard a noise from behind him, and turned. There were a number of figures approaching through the mist, all of them young wizards and witches. He could make out several faces he recognised. Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini, two former enemies from Slytherin. And just behind them, Draco Malfoy. Pansy Parkinson pointed her wand at Harry and a spray of purple light whizzed past his ear, sending his glasses flying.

Of course Malfoy would be here, thought Harry, as he fell to his knees and tried to feel for his wand. Goyle was far too stupid to come up with a trap like this. "Dudley," he hissed. "Run! They don't want you, but if you get in their way…"

He could hear regular thumps as Dudley's fists smashed into Goyle, who was squealing with pain. He felt the familiar shape of his glasses and crammed them back on his face, just in time to see Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy standing over him.

"Shall I, Draco?" squeaked Pansy, almost hysterical with excitement. "Shall I do it?" Her wand was levelled at him, her hand shaking. Harry frantically felt for his own wand, but there was nothing under his hands but gravel.

Malfoy stared at Harry, a thin smile on his face. "No," he said quietly, then swung his wand to point to Pansy. " _Crucio_ ," he said. Pansy flung her arms up in the air, and gave a blood-curdling scream.

Blaise Zabini ran up on her other side, and flung a binding curse. Pansy collapsed to the floor, twitching and whimpering. Malfoy reached down and picked up Harry's wand. "This is yours, I believe," he said, and handed it to Harry. "Perhaps you should tell your cousin that Goyle has had enough. Or perhaps not. He could probably stand another minute or two."

Harry placed his wand in its holster and looked about him. There were flashes of light piercing the mist all around them, screams of fury and shouted orders.

"Draco, Bulstrode is escaping down Kensington Gore," said Zabini.

"They'll cut her off. The park is surrounded by Aurors," said Malfoy calmly. They moved off. Harry stared after them, bewildered.

Dudley was holding Goyle up by the front of his robes, but he was clearly unconscious. Dudley flung him to the ground and he lay still. "Don't worry, I didn't do anything permanent. His face may take a while to get back to normal, but from the look of him that won't matter very much."

He stood up and dusted off his hands. "Did he say Goyle? Is that the scary bully used push you around? Is that what passes for hard in your world?" He shook his head. "I don't know why I was ever frightened of you for so long."

"You were frightened of me?" asked Harry.

"Terrified," said Dudley. "You set a giant snake on me! I had to have a pig's tail amputated!"

"That was Hagrid," said Harry, quickly.

"If I'd known you were scared of that," - Dudley gestured at Goyle, who was twitching slightly – "I'd have been a lot less worried. So would Mum."

"What about your dad?" asked Harry.

"Dad was always completely terrified of you. Even when you were a baby. Come on, you blew up his sister."

Harry laughed. "Well, that was a mistake."

"Then that crazy guy blew up our fireplace."

They were both laughing now. In the distance, the screams and flashes were subsiding.

"Is this normal for you?" said Dudley, waving at the park.

"Pretty much, yeah," said Harry. "When did you learn to do that?" He gestured at Goyle.

"You know I've been boxing for years," said Dudley. "I've been taking it seriously. Southern area finals, light heavyweight."

"Light?" asked Harry.

"Been working out," said Dudley, scowling.

"Well, you look better than you used to," said Harry.

"What was he trying to do to me then?" asked Dudley. "Give me donkey ears or what?"

"Er… he was going to kill you," said Harry. There was a moment's silence.

"Blimey," said Dudley. "I wish I'd hit him a bit more now."

The noise had died down. A number of figures were walking towards them. Harry felt a tap on his shoulder and turned. The tramp he'd seen earlier was standing there.

"Harry – it's me!" said the tramp. "Ron! Polyjuiced! We didn't know it was you. The source said there was going to be an attack on a wizard by wannabe Death Eaters."

"I can guess who the source was," said Harry. "Malfoy's changed sides."

"Malfoy?" said Ron. "Might have known." He noticed Goyle's recumbent form. "Bloody hell! What happened to gorgeous Gregory?"

Harry gestured with his thumb. "My cousin, Dudley."

Ron stared at Dudley. "He did that to the toughest bloke at Hogwarts? Respect."

Dudley walked over to Harry, ignoring Ron.

"Listen, Harry – I knew this was some kind of trick. No way would you write 'Dearest cousin Dudley'. Still, I sort of hoped I'd see you. Anyway…". He scratched his head. "Happy Birthday." He handed Harry a small parcel.

"Wow, Dudley… I'm sorry, I didn't…" said Harry, softly.

"Of course you didn't. When we were eight, you gave me a drawing you did, for my birthday. It was of the two of us. I still have it. It said 'Friends forever'." Dudley blinked and looked away. "I'm sorry things didn't work out, afterwards. This is a watch I was given. I have loads of them, but this is a good one. I wanted… never mind."

Dudley grabbed Harry's hand and shook it briefly. He pointed to the suitcase. "That's the stuff you left. Mum wanted to throw it out but dad was worried that the binmen would see it. Books, those dress things you wear, that kind of stuff. Anyway, see you around". Dudley strode off.

"Seems a nice bloke," said Ron, his usual voice started to sound through the tramp's rasp. "Don't know why you didn't like him. Do you remember that picture?"

Harry shook his head. "When I was younger I was always trying to be friends with Dudley. Then I gave up on it," he said. "I've spent most of my life hating him and Malfoy. Now they start messing things about."

Ron looked down at Pansy and Goyle. "They still seem to be carrying on in the same old way, though. Just not you getting the benefit."

Various figures were approaching as the mists began to clear. The young woman that Harry had seen earlier strode up to him and grasped him by the hand. "Harry Potter? My name's Astoria Greengrass. Ravenclaw, just after you."

"I thought I knew you! You were in SPEW, weren't you? Your sister was in our year…" Harry tailed off as he saw Daphne Greengrass walking up, tears running down her face.

"Astoria… Millicent Bulstrode is dead. She ran in front of a car."

Astoria shook her head sadly. She didn't cry, however.

"We did our best to make this a safe operation," said Ron, quietly. "She must have just panicked."

"It's my fault! If I hadn't…" said Daphne wildly.

Astoria seized her by the shoulders and shook her gently. "Don't be silly, Daphne. You saw what happened at Hogwarts. We had to stop this nonsense starting up again. You didn't want to be part of it. You and Draco were right to come to me."

"You aren't an Auror," said Harry. "How did you…"

"We have a society devoted to the rehabilitation of the people misled by Voldemort. We have contacts in the Auror's Office. They prefer to have the accused peacefully surrender."

"Who in the Auror's Office?" asked Harry. "I don't know of any… oh, is that Neville's operation?"

Astoria raised a finger to her lips.

More wizards were approaching. Among the crowd were Neville, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Malfoy. One of them waved a wand at Pansy, releasing her from the body-bind charm. They pulled her to her feet, not unkindly.

Pansy stared at Malfoy, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Why, Draco?"

Malfoy looked at her contemptuously. "Because, you stupid girl, I want my life back. I want my family to be at the centre of the wizarding world, where it belongs, not skulking in cellars indulging in idiotic conspiracies. That half-blood fool Tom Riddle is dead. I'm intelligent enough to realise that."

Pansy sobbed. "You _hurt_ me."

"He used Cruciatus," said Harry, quietly.

"Draco? Is that true?" asked Astoria, sharply.

"I had no choice! She would have killed Potter!" snapped Malfoy, sullenly.

"You could have used Expelliamus," said Harry.

"Willing to bet your life on it, Potter?" sneered Malfoy.

"We'll talk about this later," said Astoria.

"Never used an unforgivable curse yourself? You sliced me open once, remember?" Malfoy was white with anger. "What punishment was it? Detention for an hour or so? No expulsion for the school favourite."

"I said we'll talk about it later, Draco!" said Astoria, loudly. There was a moment's silence.

"Enough chatter," said Shacklebolt. "Cruciatus is technically legal, pending repeal of the edicts of last year. Malfoy, this is all very well, but if you want amnesty…"

"You want some escaped Death Eaters, not just schoolchildren with ambitions," said Malfoy. "I think I can satisfy you. There are more than fifty of the Dark Lord's supporters hiding in our house, under the protection of the Fidelius Charm."

"Must be a bit cramped, then," said Ron.

Malfoy peered at him. "Weasley, I suppose. Yes, you Weasleys would think that, living in a hovel piled on top of each other. In _my_ father's house there are many mansions."

"Is Greyback there?" demanded Ron, ignoring the slur. After so many years of Malfoy's insults he didn't even hear them anymore.

"Fenrir Greyback? The doggy who ate your former girlfriend? No, Weasley, we don't allow the animals indoors. I have no idea where he might be. Off in the woods somewhere, I imagine."

"Thought he was a family friend," Ron muttered.

"Enough!" shouted Shacklebolt. "Malfoy, who is the Secret Keeper?"

Malfoy gave a thin smile. "I am, Minister. I suggest we make haste, in case word leaks out of this little operation."

"I agree," said Shacklebolt, briskly. "All right, boys and girls. Prisoner detail, take them to headquarters. Cram them tight, because we're expecting a lot more soon, I hope. Clean up squad where that poor girl was killed. No need to wipe memories – all they saw was a road accident. Disperse the mist in about an hour, when we're all clear of the area. Weasley, with me."

"Minister, what do you want me to do?" asked Harry.

"Eh? Potter? You aren't part of the operation, I'm afraid. It was a surprise for us all to see you here. We were just told – what was it, Longbottom?"

Harry turned to see Neville. "Attack planned on unidentified wizard, Minister. Time and location, but no identification." Neville sounded clipped and efficient – quite unlike his usual nervous self.

"You're just an innocent bystander, Potter. I suggest you return home. Carefully, just in case anyone slipped through the cracks."

"Nobody slipped through the cracks," snarled Malfoy. "Seven novice Death Eaters delivered, and apprehended. Is that correct, Minister?"

Shacklebolt nodded.

"I even made sure that Potter survived. Quits, now, Potter."

Harry grinned. It was so like Malfoy to think like that – setting up a situation where Harry's life would be in danger, just so that he could rescue him. Having Harry save his life at the Battle of Hogwarts must have really rankled. "Yeah, thanks, Draco. Appreciate it."

The crowd started to disperse. "Best not use the Albert Hall, Potter," called Shacklebolt. "It'll be quite full for a while. There's a room in the British Museum…"

"I'll be fine," called Harry. "You go right ahead."

In a few moments he found himself standing entirely alone, holding a suitcase full of belongings he'd thought long abandoned.


	15. 15 - The Morning After

The Morning After

"You should be upset!" said Ginny, her hands on her hips. "Someone tried to kill you! In fact, a lot of people were trying to kill you!"

Harry shook his head. "It's not that. In a way… that was getting involved. It's not as if I'm not used to people trying to kill me! And Malfoy was there to save me..."

"According to what you said, he turned up just slightly too late. If your cousin hadn't knocked out Goyle he'd have killed you. I bet Malfoy would have been broken-hearted."

"Well, Dudley _did_ beat up Goyle, and Malfoy _did_ stop Pansy Parkinson," said Harry. "I know they were trying to kill me but..."

Ginny shrugged. "It only happened to me once or twice and I can tell you, I wasn't able to shake it off that easily. You _could_ have died, Harry. In a way, it was more dangerous than before. There's no Lord Voldemort wanting to save you for himself. Any of them would love to see you dead."

Harry shook his head slowly. "I was scared, of course, and I still feel a bit… shook up. The thing is, though – I still wanted to go to Malfoy's house and help. I felt… left out. Neville and Ron were going there, and I was just… sent home."

Ginny grinned. "I thought you hated the 'great Harry Potter, The Chosen One' thing?"

"I do," said Harry. "Honestly, I think I preferred it when everyone hated me for some reason. I used to cringe when poor little Colin Creevy kept wanting to take my picture. I just wanted to be useful, that's all."

"You _were_ useful," said Ginny. "The chance of killing you drew in a whole lot of Slytherins who hadn't had the chance to be full Death Eaters. It also split them so Shacklebolt could take the kids first, then the rest of them. Of course, Malfoy could have told Kingsley who the target was, but then you might have decided not to turn up."

"I suppose…" said Harry, and shook his head again, wearily.

"You just want to be involved a bit," said Ginny. "I know how it is."

Harry smiled suddenly. "Maybe I did want to be 'Harry Potter, The Chosen One'. Just a bit. Storming the Malfoys' house to capture a bunch of Death Eaters."

Ginny touched his arm. "I think you can let Ron and Neville have their moment, though."

"Did we hear from Ron since last night?" Harry asked.

Ginny shook her head. "No, just that one time when his head popped up in the fireplace and he said they'd finished at the Malfoy's and they'd be hours dealing with the prisoners."

"We should go down to your Mum. There's no real risk now, but she's bound to be worried."

They put on dressing gowns and went downstairs, and found Ron sitting at the table eating a huge breakfast.

"Harry!" he shouted as soon as they appeared, "you should've been there, mate. It was brilliant."

Harry forced a smile. "Wish I had been, but I was sent home."

Ron nodded. "Sorry about that, but we had a plan all worked out, and, well…"

"It's fine," said Harry, tightly. "Stupid to risk messing things up. Did it go all right?"

"I tell you what," said Ron, buttering a thick slice of toast, "Malfoy is a complete…"

"Ron!" called Mrs Weasley from the stove.

"Well, he is. But, give him his due, when he sets out to betray all his friends, he's really really good at it. They were all still asleep, and most of them hung over. The Malfoys had half emptied their wine cellar. I think they'd put something in the food as well. Malfoy was always good at potions. All that greasing up to Snape."

"Was it Malfoy who planned it? Draco, I mean," said Harry.

"Hard to say, but I reckon it was mostly him. Old Lucius is pretty much a wreck at this stage, and that hag of a mother isn't much better. Bad enough being one of You… of Voldemort's henchmen, but Lucius was a really bad henchman. If we'd left it to him he'd probably have accidentally delivered us all the Horcruxes. But Draco - I mean, he made sure that the attack on Harry was all young wizards and witches, our age, and told the really dangerous Death Eaters to keep out of sight." Ron took a swig of tea, draining half the mug. "Funny, when we last saw Draco he was a wreck too, but he must have pulled himself together. Just goes to show that if you spend your life thinking you're better than everyone else it doesn't go away easily."

"Why did he do it, though?" asked Ginny. "Malfoy's always hated all of us, and he ended up landing all his friends into Azkaban, and saving Harry's life."

Mr Weasley lowered the newspaper, which had concealed him completely. "The Malfoys had pretty much switched sides by the Battle of Hogwarts," he said quietly. "Now, as you know, Harry, I never had much time for that family, but I never thought they were stupid. Voldemort is dead, now, and his followers are dispersed and disgraced. The Malfoys knew a lost cause when they saw one, or at least that little sneak Draco did."

"Draco probably wouldn't have gone to Azkaban, though," said Ron. "And Narcissa helped Harry. You know, when she said he was dead."

"Ah, yes, Ron, but that wouldn't be enough for a Malfoy. They've been one of the most influential and powerful wizarding families for hundreds of years. They would do anything – anything at all – to preserve their status." Mr Weasley stirred his porridge absent-mindedly.

"He seemed to gloat in it though," said Harry. "What he did to Pansy Parkinson…"

"Know what you mean," said Ron. "After hating her for years, all I could think of was when she saw the baby unicorns and couldn't help admitting how cute they were. I mean, I know she tried to kill you, and she had it coming, but still…"

"He didn't need to do what he did to her. It was... gratuitous. I'm sure that she would never have been involved in something like this if he hadn't set her up for it," said Harry, shaking his head. "I thought she was his friend. I thought she was his girlfriend!"

Ginny sighed. "Harry, you must have noticed how annoying Pansy Parkinson was. Malfoy had her hanging around him for six years. She must have driven him crazy with that horrible laugh and those stupid jokes."

"I always assumed he fancied her," said Ron. "I mean – well, Lavender was annoying too, but I fancied her lots, to start with."

Ginny laughed. "Ron, you fancied everybody. You'd have gone out with McGonagall if you'd had a chance."

"Shurrup!" said Ron, blushing.

"Malfoy must have hated all those Slytherin girls, what with fancying Hermione so much," continued Ginny.

"Hermione?" chorused Harry and Ron.

"He hated her!" said Ron.

"He hated her worse than me!" said Harry.

"Of course he hated her," said Ginny, patiently. "She was Muggle-born, and she was everything he despised. But she was clever and tough and precise, which was everything he admired. Do you really mean to say you never realised?"

Mr Weasley looked up again from his paper. "I hardly ever saw the boy but I could tell," he said, smiling.

Ron shook his head. "Blimey, I suppose it makes sense in a sick sort of way."

"Harry, you said Malfoy had a girl with him," said Ginny. "What's she like?"

"Like a Ravenclaw girl," said Harry. "Clever, tall – a bit strict."

"Sound like anyone?" said Ginny, dryly.

"Did Hermione know?" asked Harry.

"Why do you think she hated him so much?" said Ginny.

"Hang on a minute – Malfoy hated Hermione 'cause he fancied her, and she hated him why exactly?" Ron seemed somewhat perturbed.

Ginny sighed. "Hermione hated Malfoy because he was a pig, who insulted her horribly, and had a leering creepy way of staring at her. She certainly didn't fancy him."

"At last something I can understand," said Ron, grimacing, and he drained his mug. "Mum? Any tea left?"

"You could get it yourself, Ron," chided Ginny, as Mrs Weasley refilled Ron's mug.

"Have a heart, Gin – I've been up all night fighting evil. Thanks, Mum."

Mrs Weasley replaced the pot. "How's Neville?" she asked. "Is he seeing that Luna Lovejoy girl?"

"Lovegood, Mum. No, they're just friends. Neville's doing really well, but I'm not sure that he's enjoying it much." There was a pause while Ron addressed himself to his scrambled eggs. He continued with his mouth half full.

"When we'd rounded up all the Death Eaters at Malfoy's house, we had to search the place. Malfoy said there was no-one else but we weren't going to trust him, were we? I was told to stand guard over the prisoners. I've not been fully trained, you see."

Ron paused, and serious expression grew over his face. "There were no more Death Eaters, but there was… stuff. I didn't see it, but Neville did. They brought it out in sacks and crates. He was white as a sheet, but he kept on doing his job."

"I think Neville's the bravest out of all of us," said Harry. "I thought he was – well, not a coward, but a bit of a wimp when we first met – but the more scared he is, the more he'll wind himself up and do it anyway."

Ron nodded, and gestured at Ginny with his fork. "He asked _her_ to the Yule Ball. Killing Nagini must have been a doddle after that."

They laughed, and Ginny slapped Ron's shoulder with the back of her hand.

"Surely they must have arrested Malfoy's Dad when they saw all that stuff," said Harry.

"He nearly blew it," said Ron. "He was about to protest about them taking everything, but Draco jumped in and said that the Death Eaters brought it all when they came to hide out." He gave a short laugh. "All covered in cobwebs and hidden at the back of drawers. Still, Shacklebolt is going to look the other way as much as he can."

Mr Weasley shook his head. "The times I searched that house… I dare say there's more hidden away somewhere."

"Judging by the look on Lucius Malfoy's face, we got a lot of it anyway," said Ron. "Hey, Dad, what does it say in the Prophet?"

Mr Weasley held up the paper and began to read.

"'A murderous attack on Harry Potter, the boy who defeated Lord Voldemort, was foiled last night by a brave band of Aurors, led by the Minister for Magic himself. Among the ranks of the heroes was Neville Longbottom, who slew Voldemort's snake Nagini, Ron Weasley, Harry Potter's greatest friend… '"

"Sorry, Ron," said Harry, grinning.

"For Pete's sake," said Ron. "Harry's friend. Is that all I'm ever going to be?"

"'…and Draco Malfoy, formerly thought to be part of Voldemort's gang.'"

"Malfoy!" exploded Harry. "Tell me they aren't making Malfoy an Auror?"

"Of course not, Harry," said Ron, soothingly. "Nobody with the Dark Mark will ever get in the Auror's Office. Just the paper getting it wrong. Who wrote it anyway? Oh, I think I can guess."

"'Draco Malfoy and his parents Lucius and Narcissa had infiltrated the Death Eater gang, and waited until the perfect moment to trap them all. Draco, an old school friend of Harry Potter…'"

Mr Weasley was drowned out by the chorus of derision. "Language, Ron!" snapped Mrs Weasley, before Ron could finish what he was saying.

"Yeah, I think that's enough, Dad," said Ron. "That's how it's going to be. The Malfoys are officially the brave wizards who spied on Voldemort for the good guys. They're implying that they were working with Snape the whole time."

"That's disgusting," said Harry, angrily. "How can Shacklebolt go along with that rubbish?"

Mr Weasley refolded the paper. "Because Kingsley has just arrested most of the Death Eaters who were still at large, Harry. And it's now in the Malfoys' interest to make sure that any remaining Death Eaters are caught as soon as possible, if they want to keep safe. You aren't the most hated person on the Death Eater list any more, Harry."

"It's still wrong!" snapped Harry. "Lucius Malfoy was the leader of the gang that murdered Sirius. He was sent to Azkaban and now he's being let off! The Malfoys deserve to be punished".

"Of course they do," said Mr Weasley. "I'm afraid that they probably won't be. How many people went along when Voldemort took over the ministry? Almost everyone." He stood up and walked to the door. "Even me. Must be off to work now." He kissed his wife and walked to the back door.

"Will you have some breakfast, dear?" said Mrs Weasley to Harry.

Harry forced a smile. "No, thanks. Not really feeling very hungry."

He stood up and walked out to the garden. It was looking unkempt, half tended, like the rest of the house. Molly Weasley was working, if anything, harder than ever, but many of the tiny jobs that nobody else would deal with had been left undone. Meals were always ready on time, but they were just food now, put together to keep them fed – not the loving feasts that brought the family together. Every surface was clean, but nowhere was polished to a gleam. Maybe it will change, thought Harry, now that the family is getting going again.

He felt a touch on his arm and turned to see Ginny. She smiled at him. "Feeling a bit let down?"

"It's stupid, but yeah. I wouldn't have minded Malfoy getting away so much. It's just…"

"When everyone else gets caught, and he's the one getting away with everything – getting to be the hero even."

Harry shook his head. "Do you know, I even felt sorry for Pansy Parkinson, and she was trying to kill me. And Millicent Bulstrode – she didn't say a nice word to me all the time we were in the same classes, but all I can think of is the one time, in third year, she dropped a book and I picked it up and she thanked me. Now she's dead."

Ginny squeezed his upper arm. "I didn't ask Ron if any of the Slytherins in my year were there. I don't think any of them were as bad as Malfoy's lot, but there were some nasty ones."

"It's weird, isn't it – going to school with someone who tries to kill you? Dudley was horrible, and he and his friends used to beat me up, but that was as far as it went. Crabbe and Goyle, though..."

"How much does Malfoy hate you?"

"I think he hates me because he couldn't make himself kill me. Couldn't kill Dumbledore, couldn't tell Bellatrix who I was. When it came down to it, I was that boy he was at school with and didn't like, not some enemy who had to be destroyed. He failed at the one thing he wanted to be good at, and he thinks it's my fault."

"Sounds like he's found a new vocation, though. Respectable leader of the pure-blood faction. They'll be squeaky clean, especially since all those dark magic treasures have been cleaned out."

Harry grinned. "They'll hate that. All that horrible stuff they spent centuries accumulating. Dobby hinted to me about it sometimes. Junk, mostly, but expensive. They'll have to watch it burn."

"That will have to do. No Azkaban for Draco or Lucius."

Harry thought for a minute. "I suppose, when it comes down to it… I would be dead if Draco and Narcissa hadn't lied to save me. But I can just imagine in twenty years seeing him in Flourish and Blotts and he'll sneer at my son and I'll lose my temper…"

Ginny gave him a sudden grin. "Thinking of having children, are you?" Harry blushed, and squeezed her shoulder. He leaned towards her, but then heard a call from inside the house.

"Hermione's here, Ginny, Harry!" It was Molly Weasley calling. Harry and Ginny ran back inside.

"Talk about her and she appears," said Ginny, laughing.

Hermione was sitting at the table talking animatedly. "...in the Prophet I was so worried about you both, so I apparated straight here. Harry, are you all right? They said you were attacked. And Ron too!"

"I'm fine," said Ron. "They're still keeping me out of the firing line. Harry was the one they targeted. We still don't know exactly what happened. Malfoy says that it was Goyle who planned it all, but I don't believe that. Goyle wouldn't tie his shoelaces without someone telling him to. Of course, Harry saved Goyle's life as well, but…"

"Oh, Malfoy would know how to hint to them. Goyle probably thought it _was_ all his idea." Hermione shook her head. "Endangering Harry would have been a bonus."

"Yeah, if I'd been killed that would have suited him, and saving me and acting like a hero was the next best… hang on, what's that noise?" said Harry, looking around.

There was a creaking, grinding noise that kept getting louder, sounding like machinery that had been long out of use starting up.

"It's the clock!" said Hermione, suddenly. "Look, the hands are moving."

They all turned to look at the Weasley clock – the magical device that showed the whereabouts of every member of the Weasley family.

"It's been stuck on 'Mortal Peril' for years," said Ron. "Assumed it was broken."

"No, just that we've been in mortal peril and gotten used to it," said Ginny.

The hands on the clock were quivering, moving a little way off the position they had held for so long, then snapping back. Then, all at once, they began to circle the clock face, and the grinding noise settled down to a rhythmical tick.

"Oh, look! Look, Harry, Hermione – the extra hands!" said Ginny excitedly. "Dad must have added them."

Harry straightened his glasses and stared closely at the clock. There were three new hands, rotating slowly around the face, labelled Harry, Hermione and Fleur. He blinked, feeling momentarily overcome by emotion.

"Well, of course," said Mrs Weasley. "We have to have the whole family." Hermione ran to her and gave her a hug.

Gradually, the hands came to rest. The hands belonging to everyone who was in the kitchen were pointing to 'Home'. Those belonging to Arthur, Bill, Charlie, George and Percy were pointing at 'Work'. Fleur's came to rest at 'Shell Cottage'.

As the hands stopped moving, a butterfly made of tin, its wings brightly coloured, emerged from a slot at the top of the clock and circled the outside of the face. It came to rest eventually back above the slot from which it had emerged, its wings gently flapping.

"Hang on – does this mean we're all safe?" said Harry, slowly.

"Well, dear, it's not infallible, you know. You know what Arthur says about things that think without a brain." Molly Weasley shook her head. "I think it does mean that whatever you and Ron did yesterday has disposed of the main danger, for now."

"Greyback's still out there," said Ron, "but I don't expect he's got any particular grudge against us. More than anyone else, I mean. Everyone else who should be locked up is, now."

"Except the Malfoys," said Harry.

"Well, yeah. Which is bad, obviously. But not dangerous, as such," said Ron judiciously. "I mean, he had the chance to kill you and didn't. Or let you be killed."

Harry couldn't argue with Ron's reasoning, but was too angry about the Malfoys to say anything.

Hermione had released Mrs Weasley and was standing staring into space. "So that's it," she said. "The war is over. Things can really get back to normal."

"Yeah, suppose so," said Ron. "As normal as they ever are."

"Hermione, how are your parents?" asked Ginny. "They're home now, aren't they?"

"They're really well," said Hermione. She was looking at Ron, but he wasn't looking back. "They've settled back into their old life… re-opened the practice…" She tailed off.

She looked down. "I must get back. Just… so glad you're all OK." She got up.

Ron shovelled a last mouthful of scrambled egg into his mouth. "Hang on," he said indistinctly. "See you off."

Hermione went straight to the door, not looking back. Ron raced after her. The others stared at each other. A few seconds later there was a loud crack. Hermione's hand on the Weasley clock moved to 'Travelling'. Ron came back into the kitchen, looking puzzled.

"She… er… had to rush." He didn't look at them. "I think I'll go for a sleep." He left the room. The others sat in silence.


	16. 16 - Unpacking

Unpacking

There was an uncomfortable feeling at the Burrow for the next few hours, but as Ron slept on, Harry and Ginny relaxed. They were sitting in Harry's room, saying little, but enjoying being together.

"Harry?" said Ginny, a gently query in her voice. "That bag that your cousin gave you. Shouldn't you look at it?"

Harry sighed. "I suppose so. I'd forgotten about most of this stuff. Just what I'd decided I could live without."

"Yes, when you were on the run and had to escape on a broomstick. That doesn't mean you should have to abandon everything if you don't have to."

Harry dragged the bag over to the bed and opened it. The first thing he saw was his dress robes, washed, ironed, and neatly folded. He smiled. "One thing about Petunia, she did keep things clean and tidy," he said, almost nostalgically. He shook them out.

"You'll need them," said Ginny. "No point in buying a new set."

"I suppose not. Oh, look!" He held up a small box. "My Holyhead Harpies cufflinks."

"I gave you those!" said Ginny. "You left them behind! How could you?" She reached into the case. "And your Christmas sweater. Oh, Harry, I'm so disappointed in you. You went hunting Voldemort without your Christmas sweater."

As Harry pulled out a pile of books, the door opened, and Ron and George entered.

"Hey, is that _the_ potions book?" said Ron. "The one with all of Snape's notes in it? I thought it was lost."

"No, I got it back from the Room of Requirements. I was gathering everything I thought might help in looking for Horcruxes. In the end I didn't bring it the Dursleys – I suppose I didn't want Hermione going on at me about it all the time we were in hiding," said Harry. "She kept warning me about it and I suppose eventually I started to think she was right. Some nasty spells scribbled in the margins."

George took the book from Harry and riffled through the pages. "That's very true, Harry, and you are very wise to restrain yourself."

He closed the book and held it upright in his right hand. "On the other hand – this is the book that turned you from a frankly mediocre concocter of potions into the best in your class. Better than Hermione, even, which is almost impossible to credit."

"Yeah, funny how Snape was a better teacher scribbling notes for himself than when he was standing in front of a class," said Ron.

"That's because Snape was, if one can be forgiven for slandering a dead hero, a total prat," said George judiciously. "Fred and I never got on with the man. Possibly because we spent our potions lessons trying to devise simple ways to induce vomiting."

"Snape used to do that by walking into class," said Ron.

"Bottled Snape would be one of our best-sellers I'm sure," said George. "But, Harry. This book is a treasure, is it not? Wouldn't every aspiring NEWT student – I believe that such people exist – benefit from its advice?"

Harry shrugged. "Maybe. But I wouldn't let that book out into the world. You wouldn't want a load of sixth years using _sectumsempra_ on each other."

George held a hand up to the side of his head. "Point taken, Harry. Point most definitely taken. I would not like to see that. When it comes to curses removing vital body parts, I am in sympathy."

"The stuff about potions is harmless enough though," said Ron. "I mean, it makes sense to use the best instructions. Not that you let me copy them out."

"Yeah, sorry," said Harry. "Anyway, best just put it away."

He reached for the book, but George stepped back.

"Just consider this, Harry. The waste of materials! The shattered lives from all the poor young students who can't pass their Potions NEWT! There's a bright young boy or girl out there, Harry, who would make a fine auror, but they won't get the mark they need for the want of this book."

Harry paused. He'd set his heart on being an auror, and he still remembered the sinking feeling he'd had when he thought that he wouldn't be able to continue with potions because of his exam result. Potions were a requirement to be an auror, along with many other positions with the Ministry.

Then he shook his head. "It's no good, George. I can't let that book be public. It's too dangerous."

"Public? Public? Nobody said anything about making the whole book public, Harry." George shook his head. "That would be madness."

"Absolutely insane," said Ron.

"What we need to do – for the benefit of the whole wizarding world, Harry – is to extract what's useful." George put on as serious a face as he could manage.

"A special edition," said Ron.

"At a very reasonable price," continued George.

"All the nasty dark magic removed," said Ron.

"By whom?" interjected Ginny. "You can't possibly mean to let him _do_ it, Harry. I know what happens when you start reading strange books!"

"Hang on," said Harry. "This isn't possessed, or anything like that. It's just full of Snape's notes."

"Snape's notes from when he was becoming a Dark Wizard!" said Ginny, her face reddening. "He was a very good Dark Wizard, too!"

"Ginny! Ginny Ginny Ginny!" said George, holding up his hands placatingly. "I'm not going to go near anything the least bit dangerous. Just the potions. Not any new potions, either. Just the ones he improved. I'll test them out..."

" _You're_ going to do it?" said Harry, incredulous. "I don't think so, George. I remember hearing the explosions coming from your bedroom. I don't want to be in the house if you're trying out untested potion recipes."

"I don't want to be in the same county," said Ginny.

"Well, who then?" said George. "Come on, Harry, we can't let this slip. It's a golden opportunity."

"I don't think anyone should go near it," said Ginny fiercely.

"You know who would do it properly," said Ron slowly.

They paused. Harry looked at Ginny. "If she did… if she agreed… that would be all right, wouldn't it? I mean, if you can't trust…"

"OK! OK!" snapped Ginny angrily. "If Hermione agrees to take charge of it, then fine. She won't though."

"When's she next over? Ron?" said George.

Ron shook his head. "Dunno. She didn't say."

George sighed. "Ronald, Hermione is, with the possible exception of Mum and the lovely Fleur, the best thing to happen to the Weasley family for three hundred years. Please don't let her slip away by being…" He stared at Ron for about ten seconds. "…yourself."

Harry reached for the book, but George snatched it away. "Just let me have a look at it," he pleaded. "I promise not to try anything in it."

Ron pulled it out of his hand. " _I'll_ look at it with you. I spent enough time watching _him_ read it. About time I got a chance to see how he suddenly became the big potions expert."

"Ron, don't..." began Harry.

"It's all right, I won't let him do anything silly," said Ron. "Like, for example, trying out a new curse on someone without knowing what it does." Harry looked at his shoes. "We'll have a look at it and then when Hermione gets back it's up to her."

Ginny turned to Harry. "Are you going to let them do God knows what with that book?"

"Well, I… maybe it isn't always up to me what people should and shouldn't do. I'm not the Chosen One, or if I was, that was just because I happened to get in the way. I've always said I'm not special, and maybe everyone shouldn't leave it up to me to decide everything!" He found he was speaking quite loudly. "Er… sorry."

"You know, Harry, I only wanted to borrow a book," said George. "I'll think twice before I ask you to go on a vampire-hunting quest or battle an army of Inferi. New plans for the weekend I think."

"I just got a bit carried away," said Harry.

"No problem, mate," said Ron. "Listen, don't worry, either of you. I'll keep an eye on him, and there'll be no messing about, OK?"

George and Ron left, and Harry and Ginny sat looking at each other. "Sorry..." they both began together, and then laughed.

"Ron seems to be coming out of himself a bit," said Harry.

"Yes, but mostly with George. Not Hermione, yet, I'm sorry to say. Have you noticed how he's slotting into that Fred half of the double act this last few weeks?"

Harry pondered. "Is that a good thing?"

Ginny sighed. "Big families are a bit odd. Ron was always sat on by everyone, especially Fred and George. Now George is a bit lost, and if Ron can keep him company, well, it's whatever works."

"It's different to Fred, though. The two of them used to egg each other on. Ron's kind of on his side but keeping him sensible."

Ginny shook her head. "I never figured out how the twins became the most successful members of this family. I mean, Charlie and Bill, even Percy, they've all done all right, but George and poor Fred, they were… I mean, I never thought that anything they did was actually work."

"They probably worked as hard as Hermione. Designing new jokes isn't any easier than designing new potions. Did George buy Zonko's yet?"

"He made them an offer, and told them that if they don't accept, he'll open WWW in a different premises. George is quite the ruthless businessman when he wants to be. They haven't replied yet."

Harry smiled. "He keeps telling me that I'm an investor and that I'm entitled to whatever share of the profits I want. I wish he wouldn't."

Ginny smiled back at him. "Don't be so quick to use up your money, Harry. You might be a family man someday."


	17. 17 - First Day

First Day

Alex Fyng's mother adjusted his tie, reaching carefully across the table to avoid the cups and plates. "All set, dear?" Her voice was slightly high, forced cheerfulness failing to totally disguise the nervousness in her voice.

"I'm fine, mum. That's the fifth time you've straightened my tie."

She turned away and blew her nose. "I'm sorry. I just want to make sure…"

"Mum. You've been telling me what to do for the last year, ever since we got the letter. I know when the train goes, I know how to get on, I know what happens the first day."

"Do you have…" his mother's voice tailed off as he grinned at her.

"Yes, I have my money. I have my wand, and my trunk and the basket with the cat in it are right here. Oh no, where's my ticket?" He frantically patted his pockets. His mother laughed.

"I know, but it's a big day for me, too. I'm sorry that your dad…"

"Forget it, Mum. He didn't approve. We're still talking, and I'll see him in the holidays."

"I want you to get on with him, you know." His mother's voice was quiet, almost a whisper.

"I know you do. We do get on. He agreed that I would choose, and I chose this. He didn't like it, but he accepted it. I'll write to him."

His mother shook her head. "He won't like getting owls. Send the letters to me and I'll put a stamp on them." She shot him a sly glance. "I won't open them!"

They laughed, then fell silent. She reached out and placed a hand on his.

"I think you can be really good at… this," she said. "It's as if whatever share I might have had… it's been added to yours."

"I'll do my best," he said, tightly.

"Your dad thinks I just want you to… I don't know, fulfil all my dreams and have you live out the life I wished I had. It isn't that, really. I just know – when I remember your granddad, your brother – this is what they were. If you don't get the chance to be everything you could be…" Her voice tailed off and she stared down at the table.

"I understand, Mum. I want this, really. I'll miss you, of course,"

She smiled at him. "Not too much, though. Have fun. Learn, make friends. It's a whole new world, and I've only been able to give you a glimpse of it."

She glanced at her watch. "I know I've been nervous all day, but it is really time to catch the train." She drained the last of her coffee. "Are you finished?"

He looked down at his plate. "Yeah, I'm full."

They walked slowly towards the barrier. He'd been six when his mother had brought him here first. "Watch closely," she'd told him. "You'll feel a little tickle in your head trying to make you look away. Once you know it's there you can ignore it."

He still remembered his delight when the first boy had pushed his luggage trolley through the wall. He hadn't been frightened or shocked at all. They'd stayed there watching until the last parent had left. They'd come back every time since, watching from the side, but hardly ever talking to anyone.

Once or twice, someone had greeted her mother. They'd sounded friendly enough, but distant and cool, and they'd never stopped to chat. His mother had explained that they had been friends of the family, or had known her at school. His mother was often a bit quiet after these encounters.

They reached the wall between the two platforms. In spite of himself, he patted the pocket which held his ticket, even though he'd checked it a dozen times already. A bit more like Mum than I like to think _,_ he thought.

She gave him a quick, frantic hug, and a brief kiss on the cheek. "Bye, darling," she said, forcing a smile. As he moved forward, he turned to look at her. As his did so, a man passed between them and glanced at her. In that moment, he briefly no longer saw her as his mother, but as a woman, still young and attractive. She'll be free, now, he thought. She won't have me to hold her back and she'll find a man and get married and he'll hate me and…

Then he caught sight of her face, still smiling but woebegone and strained, and he felt ashamed of himself. She should find someone, or at least get some friends. Don't be lonely. He waved, and moved through the wall, still looking back.

He had never been to Platform 9 ¾ before, but it seemed somehow familiar. He'd watched from the café as the children had milled around King's Cross, but now they were all grouped together, all looking subtly different and strange. Wizards,he thought. Wizards and witches. How cool!

He saw where the trunks were being stacked. A porter was loading them onto a single luggage compartment. It seemed too small to hold all of them, but he was somehow fitting them in. He wandered down the platform, staring into the carriages. Most of the children were older than him. Well, of course they are. It's my first year. Some of them must be eighteen or nineteen.

He looked for some other smaller children like himself. They'll look a little bit lost and confused, he thought, and they won't know anyone yet. All the children seemed to be chatting to each other, though.

He passed by what seemed to be an empty compartment and hesitated. Well, he thought, if the train is full then some children will have to squeeze in there, won't they? And I might talk to them.

He opened the door to the carriage and climbed on board. There was a separate corridor on the far side of the carriage – quite unlike the train that he and his mother had used to travel to central London. He opened the door to the first compartment and stepped in.

He had been mistaken when he thought that the compartment was empty. There were two small girls there, about his own age. Both were blonde, blue-eyed, and appeared to be identical. They stared up at him, each with the same blank expression.

"Er… do you mind if I sit down?" he said, and realised that he was blushing.

It was the nearest girl who spoke. "You may, of course," she said. "We are only entitled to the seats we are using ourselves."

He sat down facing them, looked at them briefly then stared at the floor.

The girl spoke again. "We are going to Hogwarts for the first time. I'm guessing that you are as well?"

He nodded.

She smiled. "I thought so because you were by yourself, and if you were returning then you would probably look for your friends from last year. Also you are quite small, like us. I like deductions which turn out to be true. In real life they often don't, for some reason."

He frantically tried to think of something to say. "Um… my name's Alex Fyng. I'm starting First Year."

The girl nodded slowly, as if absorbing the information. "Hello, Alex. My name is Sophie McIntyre. This is my sister Amy."

"Hello," said Amy. Alex reached across and shook hands with the twins. Their hands were cool and dry. Amy's handshake was slightly firmer than Sophie's.

"Sophie means wise," said Sophie. "Amy means beloved. Which is more important, Alex – wisdom or love?"

Alex thought for a moment. They seemed to be quite strange girls. "I wouldn't like to choose," he said carefully, looking from one to the other. "Well, if you are wise but without love, you will just be a clever horrible person. If you're a nice person but silly, you won't be able to be of use to anyone, will you?"

"That's quite good," said Sophie. "Of course, you might just be trying to avoid the question."

"I might," said Alex, "but that wouldn't invalidate my reasoning."

Sophie fixed him with an intense gaze. "What does Alex mean?"

"I don't know," he said. She raised an eyebrow.

"It means defender of the people," said Amy.

"Would you defend the people?" said Sophie. "The wizarding people, I mean?"

Alex paused. "I don't know. I don't know them well enough."

Sophie sat back and pressed her palms together. "That's interesting. Are you Muggle-born, then? We've never met anyone Muggle-born."

He tossed his head to one side. "Well, sort of. My father was a Wizard. My mother is a Squib. We've always lived as Muggles."

"Hm. My father's sister is a Squib, but she married a wizard and seems to be involved entirely in our world. I assumed that this always happened."

"I don't know how usual it is. My mother was at Hogwarts for two years, and was asked to leave. She decided to live in the Muggle world."

Sophie's face was serious. "How very brave of her."

He nodded. "Her family didn't like it, and of course, she was out of place in Muggle school for a long time. She kept at it, though."

"I think that I like your mother," said Sophie. "You say that your father 'was' a Wizard. Is he no longer alive?"

Alex shook his head. "No, he's fine. They split up a few years ago. It was around when I… well, you know, started to do magic. He didn't like it. He never did magic himself."

"How sad," said Sophie. "My aunt the Squib is at present separated from her wizard husband. It is devastating for our cousins."

"I still see him, of course," said Alex, "but he didn't like the idea of me going to Hogwarts, so things are a bit…"

"Family disagreements are always painful," said Sophie. "Did you notice that the train is moving?"

Alex turned to the window and saw that they were passing through the suburbs of North London. "I suppose that we must have been involved in our discussion," he said.

"Indeed. I enjoy conversation." Sophie gestured at her sister. "Amy, not so much." Amy smiled, and looked out the window.

"What about you, Sophie? Do you think the wizard world is worth defending?" Alex was feeling slightly on edge, and realised that it was a sensation he rather enjoyed.

"Oh. I'm not really sure, Alex. My family were of course affected by the recent coup by You Know Who."

"Say Lord Voldemort," said Amy. "He's dead now."

"Very well; Lord Voldemort," said Sophie, with a slight effort. "I observed how many of our adult friends behaved. It was not an edifying spectacle. Our parents took a position of principled opposition to the new regime, but most of their friends and relations took refuge in a pusillanimous neutrality."

Alex wasn't sure if he'd heard the word pusillanimous before, and was amazed to hear an eleven-year-old girl use it. He wasn't quite sure what it meant.

"I was only a small child," continued Sophie, "but I considered the refusal to stand up against wrongdoing was contemptible. I said as much when our Uncle William attempted to persuade my father to publicly condemn a friend who had been arrested. Of course, I was so young that my views were disregarded, but I was glad that I spoke."

"He said what about your children, and I said what about Eric's children?" said Amy.

"That is true, you did, Amy," said Sophie, patting her sister's shoulder. "We learned that the wizarding world is full of weakness and treachery."

"You still have to live in it, though," said Alex.

"Do we? Your mother left."

Alex considered. There was the callous indifference of his mother's family, her abandonment by her wizard friends – but then he considered how his mother was jeered at for her eccentricity. He thought about the horrible stories on the news every night, the people sleeping in shop doorways.

"The Muggle world isn't any better, really. I don't think Muggles are any better or worse than wizards. They're all just people."

Sophie nodded slowly. "What should one do, then?" she asked.

And so the talk went on. Sophie would offer an opinion, then ask a question, and Alex would answer as best he could. Amy would occasionally interject to correct some point. Alex noticed that while Sophie frequently corrected him, she never disagreed with her sister.

After a couple of hours, the conversation slowed. Alex noticed that Amy had fallen asleep. When he turned back to look at Sophie, her chin was resting on her chest. How odd, he thought, but before he could extend the thought any further, he was asleep himself.


	18. 18 - Teachers And Prefects

Teachers And Prefects

"It's at the front, Harry. It's a carriage for prefects, and the teachers normally go there as well," said Hermione, "though it's not compulsory."

"Lupin didn't," said Harry.

"Well, he probably felt a bit self-conscious."

"Well, he must have wanted to keep out of the way, being a werewolf," said Ron.

Hermione sighed. "Nobody _knew_ he was a werewolf then, Ron. He must have just..."

"Better get aboard," interrupted Harry. He caught Ginny's eye and nodded at Ron and Hermione. "Bye, Ron."

"Yeah, bye," said Ginny, and she and Harry lugged their trunks into the carriage.

They dragged their trunks into the compartment and sat down. Hermione followed a few seconds later.

"The train doesn't leave for another ten minutes," said Ginny.

"I know," said Hermione, looking downwards. "I wanted to get settled."

Harry looked out the window. Ron was walking away, not turning around. Harry looked back at Hermione. She was folding her coat to put it in the rack, avoiding their gaze.

"How are things with Ron, Hermione?" asked Ginny, quietly.

Hermione sat down, held her hands in her lap, and stared at them. "I don't know. He's happier now, he's getting up, going in to work. But we seem more distant every day."

Ginny leaned forward. "Are things… clicking?" she asked, conspiratorially.

"Oh, that," said Hermione, smiling slightly. " _That's_ fine. Anything rather than talking."

"Sometimes it is all about wand-work," said Ginny.

Harry looked back and forth between them, his mouth open.

Ginny laughed. "Oh, Harry, you're shocked. Don't you talk to Ron about things like that?"

"No!" said Harry, vehemently.

"What do you talk about, then? Quidditch, I suppose," said Ginny dismissively.

"All sorts of things. Just not… private stuff," said Harry, feeling hugely embarrassed.

"Well, you've kept everything bottled up since I've known you," said Hermione. "I don't suppose that's going to change."

"Oh, he's getting better," said Ginny, patting Harry's arm. "Every now and again he tells me how he's feeling. Sometimes I don't even have to ask."

Hermione sighed. "I wish Ron would. The more that's going on in his mind, the less he wants to talk about it. And I don't feel able to talk if he won't. Oh, and this stupid book!" She reached into her bag and took out the copy of Advanced Potion-Making.

"Did George talk to you?" said Harry.

"No. Ron. George didn't dare, I suppose. But Ron said that if I didn't look at it, then George'd find someone else, and would I take the risk? Honestly. Did you go along with this?"

Harry held up his hands. "I just said to ask you. I don't have to decide everything for everyone."

There was a shudder and lurch. "We're moving," said Ginny. "I'd better check the carriages."

"Should I come along?" asked Harry, beginning to stand.

"No, don't bother," said Ginny. "Prefects' job. Professors only get involved if there's a problem."

"Like Dementors," said Harry, grimly, recalling his first encounter with Remus Lupin.

"Well, if any of the first years are Dementors, I'll come back and get you," said Ginny, opening the door to the corridor.

"Seems odd, just the two of us," said Harry, as Ginny moved down the corridor.

"I had to get on the train by myself in second year," said Hermione. "I had no idea what had happened to you both. I was dreading the thought of being by myself for the rest of my time at Hogwarts."

"Funny how we got together," mused Harry. "I mean, why us three?"

"Not that unlikely, really," said Hermione. "You had no idea what was going on. You'd never heard of magic up until a few weeks before you started. Ron has no confidence because of being constantly knocked back by his older brothers. It makes sense that you'd end up together."

Harry stared. "It sounds a bit mechanical, when you put it like that."

"Maybe it is. I was lonely and sad, and nobody liked me."

"And we were picked on by a troll," said Harry.

"That's what cemented things. We've been through a lot, together."

"Isn't that enough? For you and Ron?" Harry was almost pleading.

Hermione sighed. "You and Ron will always be my best friends. That will never change. I just don't know if we are going to last as something else."

Harry shook his head. "I really want for the two of you to be happy."

"I know, Harry." She reached across and patted his hand. "I don't know. Maybe we just need time. Maybe it's the Muggle thing."

"The Muggle thing? What do you mean?" said Harry, puzzled.

"Oh, you must notice it. Whenever we talk about my life with my family, or my old school, or any of the things I used to do – how does Ron react?"

Harry thought. "Well, he usually thinks it's funny, or odd, or stu… Oh, I see."

"Harry, doesn't it bother you?" asked Hermione.

"Well, no. Because if I talk about Muggles, it's the Dursleys. And frankly if Ron said he thought they were nice, intelligent people then I'd be a bit annoyed."

Hermione frowned. "Well, I suppose that makes sense for you. You didn't have a good experience of living with Muggles. But I did, Harry. I had good, loving parents. I didn't have many friends, but I wasn't isolated or bullied. I had a good life, and it would have been a good life even without magic."

"But Ron doesn't… I mean, the Weasleys don't look down on Muggles. They just don't understand them."

Hermione shook her head. "I thought that too. I mean, you had the Slytherins, with their horrible pure-blood thing, and the abuse. Calling me a mudblood."

"Ron was furious about that."

"Yes, he was. And I was very grateful that he really meant it. I think he'd have reacted the same way if he'd heard anyone say the same thing, about anyone. He hated the idea that someone would be judged by their parentage. But do you remember what Hagrid said?"

Harry pondered for a moment. "Something about don't worry about it, you're better at magic than any of them?"

"That's right, Harry. I was worth something, because I could do magic well. And that's what counts, isn't it?" Hermione's voice was hard.

"He didn't mean..."

"He did, though. That pure-blood business is nonsense, because us mudbloods..."

Harry winced.

"...mudbloods can be just as good at magic as anyone else. And that's why the 'decent' wizards..."

Harry could hear the quote marks.

"…are willing to treat us as equals. Not like elves or goblins, or Muggles."

There was a moment's silence while Harry tried to collect his thoughts.

"Look… Arthur Weasley – he's obsessed with Muggles. He loves them."

"Oh, yes." Hermione gave a laugh. It was not a nice laugh. "Arthur loves Muggles. He talks about them like talented little children. He's amazed they can walk and talk."

"Oh, come on Hermione!" said Harry, a little nettled. "That's not fair. He isn't like that."

"Well… no. All right. But he does condescend, you can't deny it. And Molly..."

"What about Molly?" snapped Harry. He'd always felt defensive about Molly Weasley, so often the subject of spiteful comments from Draco Malfoy.

"Do you remember when Arthur was in Saint Mungo's? How his wounds didn't heal, and they tried stitches?" Hermione was speaking quietly, but intensely.

"Yes," said Harry, stiffly.

"And Molly was furious. With him, with the hospital. For doing something as mad as Muggle medicine. As if it were… primitive."

"They were under a lot of stress, Hermione. We all were. He nearly died!" Harry protested.

"Yes, and that's when people reveal their true feelings. When it came down to it, when she thought her husband would die, Molly Weasley didn't trust Muggle medicine not to kill him. My parents are dentists, Harry! They've spent their lives helping people, and Molly thinks they are basically frauds! And the Weasleys are on the pure-blood registry. Yes, yes, I know that's all rubbish, but it does mean that the Weasleys don't marry outside this little world they live in."

Harry looked at her in shock. "I… I never knew you felt this way about them."

"But Harry, I love Molly! I love all of them. Even Ron. Especially Ron. It's just… I let this go for so long. I felt the same way myself, and I didn't even know it. I skipped Christmas skiing with my parents to come to Grimmauld Place with the Weasleys. I… I feel really guilty about that now. I feel as if I took sides against them. Not just then, but over the years. They kept buying me Muggle books – just ordinary books they thought I'd like – and I haven't opened half of them. I always used to love the books they chose for me. Then they were just… not part of my life anymore."

Harry shook his head. "It was just so different for me. I wanted to get out. Anything the Weasleys said about Muggles – well, I just took it as meaning the Dursleys, and I was ok with that. The Muggle world did nothing for me, and I was glad to be shot of it."

Hermione nodded silently.

"Now I think of it – I just assumed that of course you'd want to be with the Weasleys at Christmas, or at Hogwarts. I never had a family myself, so I thought… well, no, that's wrong, I didn't think, because if I had I'd have had to face the fact that you had a family who loved you and I had..."

"Oh, Harry," said Hermione softly. "It's been so hard for you. I've had to choose between two worlds I love, and you've..."

"I've got a good life now," said Harry firmly. "I could spend my time brooding about how unfair it all was, but it's all in the past."

Hermione nodded. "I'm really happy for you. It always seemed like too much of a burden, but somehow you coped. I couldn't have."

Harry shook his head. "I coped by leaning on you. You and Ron, but especially you. You were the one telling me the right thing to do, when I was losing my temper and charging in everywhere."

Hermione smiled. "Sometimes charging in was the right thing to do. I'd have stood back and waited until it was too late."

"At least we both had better judgement than Ron." They both laughed.

"Anyway – I get what you mean about the Weasleys and Muggles. You should know, though – Molly Weasley has a job in the local shop. She's learned Muggle money, though she has to convert it to real money in her head. She visits the vicar regularly. Since the family have mostly left home, she's getting involved with her neighbours."

"That's wonderful!" said Hermione, fervently. "I mentioned a few times to her about going down to the village, and she always seemed to think it was a strange thing to do."

"You change people, Hermione. When you started SPEW, it seemed like a crazy idea, but now there are loads of people interested in elf… stuff. You brought Ron round, remember?"

"I forget, sometimes. It seems as if nothing happens, but it does. Just a bit more slowly than I want."

"What do you want from Ron?"

Hermione looked up at the ceiling, shaking her head. "If I knew, I'd tell him. Maybe it's that we were friends so long, it's difficult being something else."

Harry sat back. "Hermione – may I say something? About you and Ron, I mean?"

Hermione looked at him, surprised. "Of course you can. You can say anything."

"I just… I think back over the years, and you've been giving me good advice and I've usually not taken it. I've never given you advice about anything, and I'm not going to start now, because you're a lot cleverer and more sensible than I am."

Hermione smiled. "Maybe I'm just more opinionated."

"Perhaps because your opinions are usually correct," said Harry. "Look, I've been watching you and Ron for ten years now, and it's been… you know, you spent most of that time quarrelling about something or other. You'd go months without talking sometimes. Not that Ron and me were any different, but..."

"You and Ron would have a fight about something, and then you'd get over it. With me and him, it's more… a kind of perpetual condition, really. It's how we interact." Hermione shook her head ruefully.

"I sort of knew that you both wanted to take another step, but I totally understand why you didn't. When you sort of _go out_ with someone, it makes everything different. I didn't want to think about it because it… I..." Harry paused, and cleared his throat. "I've had… a tough few years. There wasn't much, sometimes, to look forward to. I used to think, well, I love Hogwarts, I want to go back to Hogwarts, but what I really meant was, I want to be back with Ron and Hermione again."

Hermione leaned forward and patter Harry's shoulder. He took a deep breath and continued. "It used to upset me when you were fighting, because… because you were all I had. I didn't want to think about you being… if you were closer to each other then where would that leave me? I think I was selfish about it. Even though I didn't… I mean, I tried not to think about it. I didn't try to get in the way but I must have been in the way, mustn't I? I mean, three's a crowd."

Hermione shook her head. "Harry, if it weren't for you – Ron and I would never have been friends if we hadn't been friends with you. We just used to rub each other up the wrong way."

Harry gave her a sideways glance. "Do you rub each other up the right way now?"

"Harry!" said Hermione, laughing and blushing. She slapped his arm. "And you were complaining about Ginny."

"Anyway," Harry continued, "we were all in this horrific situation, where we thought we were all going to die at any time. Bad things happened to us. To you especially. It was… it was as if we could be snatched away at any time."

Hermione nodded slowly. "When I kissed Ron, it suddenly seemed so stupid that I might never have done it. That we might have died and never acted."

"And you did, and it was fantastic," said Harry. "I felt good about it, and I felt good about the fact I felt good about it. But then… it was a matter of a few minutes, really. Ron's old girlfriend is murdered in front of us. Then Fred is killed. You remember when you told Ron about how Cho was feeling, and he said that one person couldn't feel all those things at once."

Hermione thought for a moment. "Oh, yes. Trying to explain emotions to Ron."

"Well, I don't think Ron could feel all those things at once. He was happy, and in love, and angry, and sad – very, very sad – and I think guilty, about being happy when he should be sad, and sad when he should be happy. I don't think he's quite come out of that. When he couldn't stand the Horcrux anymore and disapparated – he's never quite forgiven himself. He wanted to be punished, and then… oh, I don't know. Just… it's not surprising if things are difficult. I know it's going to get better."

Hermione started to speak, but Harry held up his hand. "Just… I just want to finish. Look, I see that the Weasleys don't know much about Muggles. Arthur's been studying them his whole life and somehow hasn't learned much. But shouldn't you be trying to change that? You've been visiting the Weasley's for ten years, but have you ever brought Ron to visit your family?"

Hermione looked at Harry in shock. "I… I didn't think he'd want… I mean, he's always having little digs about Muggles. I suppose… I suppose I was scared to risk it. You know how Ron is always complaining about something. What if he hated it? What if he thought my family were… weird, or stupid?"

"I don't know how Ron would act if he stayed with your family. I mean, my dad and Petunia loathed each other. All I know is that you can't keep loving Ron and loving your parents and not have them see each other for more than five minutes at King's Cross. They are all going to be part of your life, if you stay with Ron. So make it happen."

Harry had not meant to be so vehement. Hermione looked stunned, and on the verge of tears. "Look, I'm sorry," he began.

"No, you're right. I've been putting it off… well, I had to get them back from Australia, and I couldn't do that until the goblins were sorted out, and the last of the Death Eaters… but I need to bring Ron to see them. Around Christmas, maybe. Funny how risking my life isn't as scary as bringing my boyfriend home."

"I do really want it to be OK for you two," said Harry tightly.

"Thanks, Harry. It helps having you on our side." Hermione leaned across and hugged Harry tightly. The carriage door opened and Ginny came back in.

"Oh, get a room, you two," she said. They leaned back, grinning.

"They seem like a nice crowd, mostly" continued Ginny. "The Slytherins are a bit more subdued than usual. Half their parents dead or in prison, probably. Our lot were starting the trouble for once, but I sat on 'em pretty firmly."

"It's going to be difficult," said Hermione. "Having the children from both sides mixing together."

"McGonagall wants people mixing more than before. She'd like to end the house system altogether," said Harry.

"That's daft," said Ginny. "Oh, better not say that if I'm going to be enforcing the policy. Malfoy and his ape friends are gone, but there are a few people from Death Eater families. There are some obvious Slytherins among the first years. You know the look they have. Some of the kids are bound to want to settle scores. Mullis was picking on Genevieve Subbotin and she isn't even in Slytherin yet."

"Oh, how awful," said Hermione.

"Oh, it was just teasing, but not very nice. I said if there was any repetition I'd see he was docked House points."

"I'll be able to take points," mused Harry.

"Well, don't be like Snape about it," said Hermione firmly.

"Did he _ever_ give points to Gryffindor because you gave the right answer?" asked Harry.

"Oh, once, I think. Usually he managed to find a way to take some off because I didn't say 'sir' or something like that." Hermione shook her head.

"I know he was a hero in the end, but whenever I remember being in his class I just get angry," said Harry.

"Well, it would only be fair if you did give extra points to Gryffindor," said Ginny. "It would make up for all the thousands he stole from us over the years."

"Ginny! He can't do that!" protested Hermione.

"No, I suppose not," said Harry wistfully. He wasn't at all sure how he would deal with awarding points, though. Just another part of being a Hogwarts professor that made him feel as if he couldn't possibly cope.


	19. 19 - Applause

Applause

The train shuddered and Alex woke up with a start. He'd somehow fallen asleep while arguing with the girls, and now he wasn't sure what he'd really said and what had been a dream. Sophie and Amy knew far more about the Wizarding world than Alex, but almost nothing about Muggles. They'd only been interrupted when they were told to put on their robes, and Alex had politely left the compartment and changed in the lavatory. He'd quickly realised that it was quite unnecessary, as his robes simply dropped over his street clothes. When he returned to the compartment the two girls had already donned theirs.

Alex had talked to his mother many times about what would happen on the first day at Hogwarts. "One of the things that makes it easier is that it never changes, you see. Whatever happened with one's parents is what will happen with you. It's quite scary and different to what you're used to, but if you know what to expect…"

The train started to slow down, and Alex peered out the window. "As soon as you stop, it's Hogsmeade, and you should get off as soon as possible," his mother had said. "They will only be as quick as the slowest person there." He could see the station platform approaching.

"We're here!" he said, excitedly. "We'd better get off now."

"Er… Hagrid told us to wait for him," said Sophie. "He'll be along shortly."

He knew Hagrid the giant by sight, of course, from the visits to Kings Cross. He could see him bustling around and guiding pupils

"Why is he attending to those children?" asked Sophie suddenly. "He seems to be leaving us to our own devices."

"They're Muggle-born," said Alex. "They've no idea what's going on. Hagrid has to explain what's going to happen or they'll be terrified. People from Wizarding families are brought up with this stuff."

"But you do not come from a Wizarding family," said Sophie. "You have been told about it, no doubt, but the everyday use of magic must be foreign to you."

"You are being a little rude, I think, Sophie," said Amy.

"No, it's all right," said Alex. "It's true, mostly, that I've lived in the Muggle world, but I used to visit my grandparents often, and my mother had various magical items. We used to shop in Diagon Alley every now and again."

It hadn't been much fun, though. Some of the shopkeepers had been positively rude, and most of the others had looked at her as if she were out of place. There was little for her to buy, and she had only a small and diminishing stock of Wizard money.

On the last few visits, they'd simply walked straight to the joke shop, where the proprietor would greet them by name, and often gave Alex a sample of some new, untried product, warning him with a wink to take care to keep it away from his Muggle friends.

"In that case you will no doubt cope very well," said Sophie. "I expect that your mother has briefed you rather better than ours. She is not a Hogwarts graduate herself – she is French, you see, and went to Beauxbatons. Her stories of school life were endlessly entertaining, but at this juncture they serve only to confuse us."

"Confuse you, perhaps," said Amy. "I have no difficulty in distinguishing between what Father and Mother told us."

"They had some rare arguments about which school to send us," said Sophie. "In the end, Hogwarts was chosen because our brother will be able to join us here in three years, with the attendant savings on books and other peripheral expenses. He could have gone to Beauxbatons, but boys are not well regarded there, and tend not to thrive."

There was a tap on the compartment door and the huge shape of Hagrid appeared. "All right then, which of you two is Amy? I should remember, but I don't. I could never tell twins apart, 'cept for the Honans, Teddie and Tillie, but one on 'em was a boy and the other one was a girl."

"I'm Amy," she said, and raised her arms. Hagrid reached in and gathered her up, her head resting against his shoulder. It seemed impossible that he was able to squeeze through the doorway.

"Now then, yer chair's on the platform, so let's get you settled."

Alex and Sophie followed Hagrid as he squeezed through the corridor, very gently keeping Amy clear of the sides. He stepped onto the platform and lowered Amy into a rickety wooden wheelchair.

"Thank you, Hagrid," said Amy. "I can wheel myself from here."

"I'll go attend to them Muggle-borns, then," said Hagrid. "You'll be wantin' a lift later on, I 'spect, but till then yer sister can stay with you."

Alex thought Amy gave a little frown at this.

"Shall I push?" asked Sophie.

"No, thank you. The platform is smooth and level," said Amy, and wheeled herself after Hagrid.

They left the platform down a steep, rocky path, which Amy managed to negotiate. "Our father put a balance charm on it," said Sophie. Amy glared at her.

After stumbling through the dark they eventually came to a dock, jutting out over a lake. On the far side of the lake stood an enormous castle, lit up by moonlight and by the glow from its hundreds of windows.

"All right, everyone – that's Hogwarts. The first time any of you's seen it, I dare say. Now the first time you go to Hogwarts you cross the lake in a boat. Don't overfill 'em, there's plenty for everyone. Three or four per boat is fine. Two is selfish, five and yer might drown, and I've gotten meself into enough trouble over the years. Dennis Creevy was fished out by the squid but yer can't rely on it."

The boats each had their stern resting against a low stone wall. Alex stepped onto the wall and looked dubiously into the nearest boat. "Don't worry, they won't tip over," called Hagrid. To emphasize the point, he jumped into a boat, which stayed entirely still, though Alex expected it to submerge completely. "Lot of you kids won't ever've been in a boat before, and we din't want any accidents."

Alex stepped gingerly into the boat, which felt as solid as the ground. Sophie followed him, calling out "Amy! This way!"

But Hagrid was already lifting Amy, chair and all, into a different boat.

"Oh, the silly girl is in the wrong boat," said Sophie. "Never mind."

Two girls stepped into the boat after Sophie. One was a large, ponderous girl who settled herself carefully in place holding both sides of the boat, though it remained quite still. The other girl was small and nervous. She seemed to be on the verge of tears.

They sat facing each other silently. Alex didn't want to be the first to speak, but the way they were avoiding each other's gaze was becoming too embarrassing. "I'm Alex," he said suddenly. "This is Sophie. Her sister is over there somewhere." He gestured vaguely.

"I'm Marion," said the large girl, in a high-pitched voice. "I'm a... Muggle, is it?"

"Oh, you can't _be_ a Muggle," said Sophie quickly. "You wouldn't be here if you were. You must mean that you're Muggle born. I don't suppose either of your parents are wizards or witches."

"Ah, that'll be it then," said Marion. "My dad's a greengrocer and my mum's a teacher's assistant. They were properly flummoxed when all this magic stuff started happening."

They all looked at the other girl. She looked back at them, turning her head from one to the other. "Um… I'm Janice. My mother is a witch, but my daddy is a chartered accountant. Oh, what's that?"

The boats had suddenly started to move. Janice looked even more terrified. "Why are they moving? There's no engine. Ooh, I feel seasick."

Sophie leaned forward. "You can't feel seasick. The boat isn't rocking at all. It's smoother than the train. It's extraordinary, Janice. Surely you've experienced magic boats before now?"

Janice shook her head. "Most of our friends are Muggles, you see. Well, it's very difficult to have a mixture of people, when the wizards have to not talk about magic. Mother uses a bit of magic at home, but she says that she's mostly Muggle now. Says she leaves her wand in a drawer most of the time."

Sophie sat back and folder her arms. "I begin to see that I have led a sheltered life. I've only lived with wizards and witches, but that seems to be far from universal. Marion has no experience of our world, and Janice and Alex have had very little."

"You probably think we're… I'm… very silly and ignorant," said Janice.

Marion looked a little resentful. Sophie shook her head. "On the contrary, Janice. You have lived in the Muggle world, and now you are entering the world of magic. You are possessed of magical ability or you would not be here. After a few months, you will be entirely at home in the wizard world, and I will be as shamefully ignorant of how Muggles live as before."

"But you must have been out to the shops, or a film or even a museum or something?" asked Marion, incredulously.

Sophie looked flustered. "We live in an enclosed wizard suburb in North London, and we travel by flue or portkey. Father sometimes uses his broomstick, but he's wary about being seen, you see. It isn't that we're _prejudiced_ against Muggles. During the recent unpleasantness, my parents were quite active in opposing the, the, the _measures_ that were taken against Muggle-borns. My father was under investigation."

"But you don't know any Muggles yourself," said Marion.

Sophie shook her head very slightly, and blushed. Nobody spoke any further, until the boat gently bumped against a quayside.

"Nah then, out yer get!" shouted Hagrid. Sophie was the first to jump off, calling for her sister. Alex wondered whether he should follow her, or stay with Marion and Janice, or just go on by himself. "Does everyone get so muddled about the simplest thing?" he thought.

In the end he was just swept along with the throng through a passageway, up a flight of steps and suddenly they were on a lawn in front of an enormous castle. Alex stared up, overwhelmed by the size of the place. "It's bigger than any castle I've ever seen," he said.

"Of course it is," said a short boy standing next to him. "Muggle castles don't use magic. They're rubbish compared to this."

Alex felt faintly uncomfortable hearing this, but couldn't think of anything to say in response. He could vaguely hear someone else speaking. He couldn't hear exactly what they said, but it mentioned Muggles, and there was a laugh. He wondered whether Marion could hear.

Hagrid walked up a flight of stone steps and struck a mighty blow on a vast pair of oak doors. They rattled on its hinges. There was a pause, and then the doors swung open, entirely silently. A witch stepped forward. She was tall already, but the effect of her crooked pointed hat, and the height of the stairs, made her seem as huge as Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. Follow me." She led them through the enormous Entrance Hall into a small chamber, where they all squeezed uncomfortably together.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, your home for the next seven years. I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, the headmistress. For some of you, this will seem a frightening and confusing place. You have come not only to a new school, away from family and friends, but in some cases into a whole new world, where magic is real. Even those of you who come here from the wizard world will find that Hogwarts is a place more imbued with magic that anywhere else on Earth."

She paused and looked at them. It was only a glance, but it was as if she examined each of them in turn. "It is a… tradition of Hogwarts to organise the students into different houses. This allows the development of particular skills which each house fosters. The students of a particular house live together, compete with the other houses in sport and in other ways, and ideally, become better people in order to do honour to their house."

She stopped for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts. "I'm afraid that in the past, this rivalry, perhaps healthy in itself, became so intense, and in part, associated with various movements in the wider wizarding world, that it led to unfortunate consequences. I'm sure you are all aware of the terrible events that happened a little over a year ago. This conflict was, in my view, exacerbated by the divisions which were fostered by the house system here at Hogwarts."

She paused again, and seemed to shake her head slightly. "There have been lengthy discussions between the Hogwarts board of governors, the staff and myself. There has even been an intervention by the Ministry of Magic. In the end, the decision has been made to retain the house system, for now."

She seemed to stand even taller. "Let me assure you of one thing. There will be, as long as I am headmistress of Hogwarts, no elite of students who will regard themselves as superior or more entitled than any other, on grounds of birth or background or anything else. There will be no feuding between any of the houses. Let me assure each and every one of you that when you enter Hogwarts, you will be judged on your behaviour and achievements, and nothing else."

She turned and marched out of the room. The students looked at each other, then followed her. They had to break into a run as her long stride moved her away faster than it looked. She sped across the entrance hall towards a second pair of huge doors which opened before her into a huge hall, filled with tables packed with children, all older than the first years, and all of them staring at them with curiosity and apparent disdain.

Professor McGonagall stopped them just short of a raised dais, in front of which a torn, battered pointed hat sat on a stool. "That's the Sorting Hat!" Alex heard Sophie whisper. "We each try it on in turn."

A deep rip near the brim of the hat started to move, and Alex realised that the hat was singing. Its voice sounded angry and sarcastic.

" _A thousand years ago four noble wizards met,_

 _For founding of a mighty school, its rules for to set,_

 _But each had their opinion, and couldn't quite agree,_

 _So they split them into houses, and then created me._

 _And ever since, this time of year, we gather in the Hall,_

 _New children are delivered, as they answer to the call,_

 _From courage, cunning, wisdom, loyalty they choose,_

 _And I look into their souls to see which one they'd better use._

 _But some folk seem to think it's all quite out of date,_

 _Putting children into houses only causes them to hate,_

 _A thousand years' experience can all be thrown away,_

 _A thousand years' tradition can disappear today._

 _Put the children into Ravendor, or into Slytherpuff,_

 _It doesn't matter where they go, it will be good enough._

 _This might be the last day on which the Sorting Hat decides,_

 _Into which Hogwarts tower each schoolchild will reside."_

The Sorting Hat's bitter song ended suddenly. There was a burst of clapping from one of the tables, quickly ended by a withering glance from Professor McGonagall.

"Of course there isn't really a Slytherpuff." It was Sophie whispering again. "I think it was joking. The houses are…" Her voice died down as McGonagall cleared her throat menacingly.

"As I call your name, you will step forward and place the hat on your head. When your house is announced, you will go to the appropriate table, where your new housemates will greet you." She reached into her sleeve and pulled out a long roll of parchment.

"Alhambra, Cantaloupe." A large girl stepped forward and tentatively reached for the hat.

"Just grab me!" it said suddenly. She squealed and let go. The students at the various tables laughed, but the first years all flinched. "Just put me on your head. I won't hurt you."

She carefully placed the hat on her head and turned to face the hall. "Turn me around," came a muffled voice from the hat. The rip that served as its mouth was facing backwards. She swivelled the hat on her head, blushing furiously.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the hat roared. At one of the four great tables, all the students stood up and started shouting, whistling, and stamping their feet. "Alhambra, Alhambra, Alhambra," some of them started to sing.

"Well, go to them, girl! And don't bring the hat with you." said McGonagall. The girl gave a sudden grin, and ran to the Hufflepuff table, where the students queued to shake her hand and slap her on the back. The hat, now placed precariously on the edge of the stool, toppled to the floor, and roared with laughter. It seemed to have quite gotten over its bad temper.

"Besoin, Janice," said McGonagall. The small girl from the boat gulped and walked slowly up to the hat. She picked it off the floor, turned it to face the right way, and pulled it tightly onto her head.

There was a lengthy pause. "GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat. The students at the Gryffindor table seemed determined to make even more noise than Hufflepuff. Janice looked shocked but pleased. She took care to place the hat carefully on the middle of the stool.

The students were being selected quickly now. Every time the hat called out, the room was filled with deafening cries of welcome. Suddenly it was Alex's turn. He found himself frozen to the spot. "Fyng, Alex Acteon," repeated McGonagall. "Come along now."

He stepped forward slowly and lifted the hat. It seemed to flow onto his head. "Interesting. Interesting," came a quiet voice inside his mind. "What do you want here, my boy?"

Almost automatically, he thought "Well, it's a school, isn't it? Am I not here to learn things?"

"He wants to learn!" shouted the hat gleefully. "I know where to put people like that! RAVENCLAW!"

He took a step forward, then remembered the hat, and carefully returned it to the stool. He could hear roaring and shouting and he realised that a quarter of the school were yelling his name. He had somehow assumed that it wouldn't happen for him. He'd done nothing – just been assigned to a house – but they were all welcoming him. He'd thought he'd be shy and embarrassed, but this was… brilliant.

Grinning madly, he ran to the Ravenclaw table. They stood to meet him, and seemed genuinely delighted to have him. A boy stood on a chair and started to chant doggerel. 

" _His name is Fyng,_

 _He's quite the latest thing,_

 _Pronounced Fie-ing,_

 _I'm not lying,_

 _His name is Alec,_

 _Write it in italic…"_

"Welcome to Ravenclaw," said a tall, authoritative boy. "I'm Boot, I'm a prefect. Don't mind that." He gestured to the boy reciting on the chair. "It's a house tradition to make up impromptu poems for the new intake. He's Flashman, the house bard. Sit down, you're home now."

He sat down and tried to make sense of the buzz of talk. Everyone was talking at once, but they all seemed to be replying to each other as well, and having many conversations at the same time. "It was too wet… McGonagall will decide, she's headmistress… where are you from, Fyng… I can't be bothered with Quidditch…" said Boot, turning his head rapidly from side to side.

"Hampstead," he said, quietly. "I mostly lived with Muggles. My mother is a Squib."

"Excellent, you'll know about the Muggle and Wizard world. All knowledge is a treasure, Fyng… I used to watch the games but I've N.E.W.T.s to worry about… I like the house system myself, but what can we do about it?"

"Knightly, Marion," called out McGonagall.

"RAVENCLAW," screamed the hat, who seemed to be in excellent spirits now.

Marion sat down opposite Alex. "Ah, someone I know. Well, someone I met a few minutes ago anyway," said Marion. "All a bit overwhelming, really. But nice."

She didn't look overwhelmed at all. "Did the hat say anything to you?" asked Alex.

"Say anything? No. I just thought 'Ravenclaw, please' when I put it on."

"How did you decide? Did you know about the houses already?"

Marion nodded. "There's an information pack for Muggle families. Bit of a mess, really. I don't think it's been updated for a few hundred years. Assumes we'd get to King's Cross on a horse-drawn coach, and not to be frightened by the train. Good description of the houses, though."

"McIntyre, Terpsichore Sophie," called McGonagall.

Sophie slowly walked to the hat, positioned it very precisely on her head, and sat on the stool, crossing her legs at her ankles. There was a brief pause. "RAVENCLAW!"

Alex glanced at Flashman the bard, who seemed to be struggling to find rhymes for McIntyre, Terpsichore and Sophie.

" _Welcome, lovely Terp See Core,_

 _To talk to you won't be a bore,_

 _The beautiful Miss McIntyre,_

 _Is sure to set our hearts afire…"_

"It's pronounced Terp Sick Aura," said Sophie, sitting down next to Marion. "It's very nice to have a poem written about one, though. Alex, save a place for Amy, she's next."

"McIntyre, Thalia Amy." Amy wheeled her chair beside the stool, then held the hat in her hands for a moment, staring at it, before pulling it down tightly over her ears. She sat leaning slightly forward, her arms crossed over her chest. There was silence for a full two minutes.

"Oh, very well then. GRYFFINDOR!"

There was wild cheering from the Gryffindor table. A few Ravenclaws clapped half-heartedly. Sophie leaped to her feet. "That's wrong! There's some mistake! I must talk to someone. We can't be in different houses. Why, we've never spent a night apart."

She turned to Boot, looking desperate. "I must transfer to Gryffindor, or she must come here. How do I do it?"

Boot looked bewildered. "Transfer houses? That doesn't happen, once you're chosen."

A broad-shouldered girl leaned forward. "Actually, Boot, there is a procedure. A number of students have transferred houses over the years. Mostly out of Slytherin, when they were found to have the wrong kind of ancestor. Takes a week or so, though. Flitwick needs to decide – and McGonagall of course. Permission not always granted."

"A week!" exclaimed Sophie. "I can't, I simply can't. Amy will be distraught, lost without me."

Marion squeezed her shoulder. "It'll be fine. The Gryffindor people look very friendly, and they'll look after her. You'll be with us."

Sophie looked down at the table miserably. "I shouldn't worry about her but I do. She's always relied on me."

She paused, then looked at Marion. "Marion, I always thought I had an enlightened view about Muggles, but I now consider myself to have been thoughtless and ignorant. I look forward to your acquaintance, and I hope to learn a great deal from you. If that's all right."

Marion looked at her for a moment, then reached out and grasped her hand firmly. "No problem. It's no different with me. Do you know, Alex?" she turned to face him. "I don't think I've spoken ten words with a black person my whole life, till I met you. Mr Patel who runs the newsagent, maybe. 'Good morning' and 'a pint of semi-skimmed please'."

"Is that a, a, a thing in the Muggle world, then?" asked Sophie.

Alex and Marion nodded. "Oh, yeah, a huge thing. Massive," said Alex.

"How extraordinary," said Sophie. "It had never occurred to me."

"I think there's a Muggle studies course," said Alex. "You might find that interesting."

"If it's anything like the information pack then I doubt it," said Marion. "They'd want to have someone who grew up with it teaching it. Like me. Or you, I suppose."

"It would probably be better to have someone who'd lived in both worlds," said Sophie speculatively. "Otherwise they wouldn't know what was different and what was the same."

They were suddenly interrupted by the appearance on the table of a vast array of food. It was all different varieties of curry – pork, chicken, beef, prawn and fish, with poppadums, chutney, bhajis and naan bread – Alex couldn't remember seeing so much food in his life.

"What is this?" said Sophie, sounding faintly horrified.

"Oh, you'll love it," said Marion, tearing half a naan bread. "This is the best food in the world. Steer clear of the Vindaloo if you've never had it before though."

"Er… I'm vegetarian," said Alex, faintly. "Is there any…"

"Try the dhal," said Boot, and he gestured with his wand, and a large dish floated over towards Alex. "Don't worry, there's plenty for everyone. Muggle studies don't start until third year, I'm afraid. I agree, there's plenty of prejudice in the Wizard and Muggle worlds. Your sister will be fine, we always look after first years."

Marion was carefully selecting food for Sophie, who looked very doubtful. "No, look, these are just potatoes, really, you can't go wrong. Just think of it as your introduction to Muggle life."

"Is this Muggle food then?" said Sophie.

"There's not a lot of food different between us and the Muggles," said Boot. "Sweets, obviously, but we tend to have the same meals."

Alex felt glad that he hadn't eaten on the train. He'd been too anxious before to realise how hungry he was – and now everything was so delicious he didn't want to stop until he'd tried everything – everything that didn't have meat, at least. "I eat fish and prawns," he called to Boot, who gave him a thumbs up and indicated several dishes.

He noticed that while Marion was eating as voraciously as he was, Sophie was less enthusiastic. He supposed it might have partly worry about her sister. He didn't think Amy was as helpless as Sophie claimed.

Boot had been silent for several minutes as he layered food onto a succession of poppadums. He paused for a moment to observe "You can thank a Ravenclaw for this. Padma Patil. She got so annoyed at getting roast beef and Yorkshire pudding every feast that she got up a petition demanding ethnic alternatives. It was Snape of all people who agreed. We get all sorts now. The end of year feast was Mexican."

He paused, thoughtfully. "Whether it's really what wizards or Muggles from those places actually eat I don't know. Perhaps that would be interesting to investigate."

"It's a bit like what we get from our local takeaway," said Marion.

Alex was helping himself to a large plateful of prawn biryani when he saw from the corner of his eye Sophie jump up and run across to the Gryffindor table. He looked around and saw her talking animatedly to Amy. After a few seconds, Amy turned her wheelchair around and they moved together back to the Ravenclaw table, Amy wheeling herself as Sophie walked beside her.

"Now, Sophie, sit down," said Amy, briskly. "You aren't supposed to wander around during the feast."

"But Amy, what are we to do about this terrible mistake?" said Sophie, pleading.

"There has not been a mistake," said Amy. "I asked to be placed in a different house. The hat demurred, but I was adamant."

"But… must I transfer from Ravenclaw then?" pleaded Sophie.

"Sophie, you are not _listening_ to me. I asked to be placed in a _different_ house. Any house. We are too dependent on each other. You answer for me. You decide what we should wear. It is time I stood on my own feet. Figuratively. You too. Are we to spend the next seven years in each other's pockets, missing all the opportunities of meeting new people? Sitting at adjacent desks in every class, borrowing pens, sharing family jokes that nobody else understands?"

Sophie's face fell. "I... I always thought we were best friends, as well as sisters," she said, a large tear rolling down her cheek. "And you need…"

"Oh, Sophie! I must learn to make do for myself," said Amy impatiently. "You will always be my sister, and my friend, and we will spend plenty of time together. We will be closer for this. But now I must spread my wings, and so must you." She turned and wheeled herself back to the Gryffindor table.

Alex pretended to be entirely absorbed in his biryani, though a number of Ravenclaws were openly staring. Sophie sat slack-mouthed, staring after Amy, who re-joined the Gryffindor table and immediately started talking to Janice Besoin.

"What will she do… what will she do…" said Sophie, and suddenly burst into a fit of sobbing.

"It's… it's all right," said Marion uneasily. Sophie start sobbing louder and leaned her head against Marion's chest. Marion tentatively put her arm around Sophie's shoulder and patted it. "It'll be fine." She looked longingly at her half-eaten plate of food.

After what seemed to Alex like an eternity, Sophie stopped crying and sat up. "I'm so sorry, everybody. What an impression I've made on my first day. I was so determined to be brave. That's why I'm not in Gryffindor, I suppose."

"Don't worry about it," said Boot. "My first day here I was so scared I couldn't eat. I didn't sleep the first two nights. The chutney, please. I wasn't the worst, either. This is a scary place. No, it's in the restricted section, you'll have to get permission."

A head suddenly appeared through the middle of the table and Marion screamed. Sophie smiled faintly. "It's just a ghost, Marion, didn't they warn you about them?"

"Yeah, but it's a bit different seeing one," Marion said, glowering at the food she'd spilled down her cardigan.

The ghost was of a beautiful young woman, with long flowing hair. "Are you troubled, child?" she said to Sophie.

Sophie nodded. "My twin sister's joined Gryffindor," she whispered.

"Ah, families," said the ghost. "The source of our greatest joys and deepest woes." She disappeared below the table again. Boot gestured with his wand and the food stains vanished from Marion's clothes.

There was a ringing sound from the dais. Alex looked up and saw that a hugely fat professor was tapping a wine goblet with his wand. Gradually the noise died down, and the food and plates began to vanish. Marion made a grab at one of the dishes but was just too late.

Professor McGonagall stepped forward to the lectern. Very quickly the hall descended into total silence. "Welcome back, everybody, to the new term at Hogwarts. An especially warm welcome to our new students, in First Year, and some others. A welcome also to those students returning after a period of absence." There was a polite round of applause.

"This has been a difficult time for Hogwarts, and our world in general. Our society was overrun by its worst elements. Evil ruled, even here, in Hogwarts. All of us were affected. Many of us were compromised. We kept the school going, but not without cost."

A number of the students had grim, set faces. The students at the Slytherin table seemed somewhat nervous and embarrassed.

"It has been decided, following lengthy discussions, that no student will be punished for their coerced actions during that time. I realise that this will seem unfair to many of you…"

There was a call of "shame!" from the Gryffindor table, and a ripple of whispering.

"…but this is the decision that has been made. There is also to be no recrimination or private feud to be carried out by _any_ student. Anyone disregarding this rule will be subject to the most stringent discipline."

She paused for several seconds. "It was considered that one of the issues to be addressed was the separation of the students into different houses. I… it was proposed that the house system be ended altogether…"

There were several shouts of "No!" and a buzz of angry conversation. "That wouldn't be so bad," said Sophie pleadingly. "All of us together."

"Following consultation among board, staff and parents, this option was rejected. For the time being. However, there will be some changes to the system, which will be posted on the school notice-boards. For example, any student may bring a guest from another house to his or her house common room, or bedroom, subject to the normal restrictions."

McGonagall waited for the buzz to die down. "I must emphasise that I will not tolerate, under any circumstances, ill-feeling or inter-house feuding. We have all seen what this can lead to. I intend to enforce this rigorously, and will rely on my staff and prefects to assist me."

She reached down and took a sip from a glass of water.

"And now to happier news. Firstly, I would like to announce the head girl and head boy for this year. Please give a warm round of applause to Ginevra Weasley and Dennis Creevy."

"Two Gryffindors, eh?" muttered Boot, but he applauded loudly.

"Thank you," said Professor McGonagall. She sounded almost tearful. "Now let us proceed to the new members of staff."

Her tone became slightly grim. "As many of you may know, Madame Hooch is no longer associated with Hogwarts. Last year we did not have regular Quidditch, partly due to the absence of a qualified instructor, and partly due to the extraordinary circumstances. However, this year, we've managed to hire someone who I think will please you all. Will you please all give a warm welcome to Viktor Krum!"

The hall suddenly turned dark. The great doors at the end were flung open and a tall figure walked in. He was carrying a sleek, black broom and wearing heavy furs. He strode purposefully down the hall, waving his broom around his head faster than the eye could follow. It seemed to miss his head by a hair's breadth, and came nearly as close to the students on either side. Halfway down the hall, between the tables, he flung the broom spinning into the roofspace, flying past the floating candles into the starry sky. Without pausing, he strode down the hall and mounted the dais on Professor McGonagall's right, and turned to face the hall. The broom came spinning down at him. Without looking, he plucked it from the air and spun it three times around his head, narrowly missing Professor McGonagall's ear each time, before slamming the wooden end onto the dais. He crossed his arms, legs apart, and the broom stood perfectly balanced.

The applause was tumultuous. Most of the students leapt to their feet, though some stayed seated so that they could bang on the tables.

"Well, that was impressive," said Marion. "Do all the new teachers walk in like that?"

"It's Victor Krum!" said Alex.

"Who?" said Marion.

"Imagine if David Beckham came to teach football at a Muggle school," said Alex.

"Golly," said Marion.

" _Viktor Krum!_ " said Sophie in an awed voice. "I don't really follow Quidditch, but… _Viktor Krum!_ "

Eventually the noise died down. "Er… thank you, Mr Krum," said Professor McGonagall, slightly pertly. "Moving on. I'm pleased to announce that we have recruited Harry Potter to teach Defence Against The Dark Arts."

Harry Potter stepped forward to Professor McGonagall's left side. He tried to straighten his hair, looked at Viktor Krum and crossed his arms, then uncrossed them and put his hands in his pockets. He thought for a moment, put his hands behind his back, and then thinking better of it, crossed his arms again.

The applause that greeted him was less frenzied than for Viktor Krum, but more sustained and intimate. A number of students called out to him by name, and he grinned and nodded.

"The demands on the teaching staff this year will be extensive. Repairs to the structure will continue, and much remedial work will be required. On a temporary basis, we have asked Miss Hermione Granger to assist us, while she completes her qualifications."

Hermione Granger stepped forward and put a hand on Harry Potter's shoulder. The applause was more polite and restrained, but still sincere. Ginny Weasley, the head girl, gave a whistle, but it sounded out of place.

"Finally, the most important announcement of the evening. Perhaps one of the most important announcements at Hogwarts for many years. For the first time ever, a Muggle will be teaching at Hogwarts. Mr Jerry Creevy will be the new Professor of Muggle Studies."

A small, fearful-looking man stepped forward. He was wearing a worn tweed jacket and green corduroy trousers. He gave a weak smile and waved to the hall.

Alex was about to clap when he felt Boot's hand on his shoulder. "Wait," he whispered. There was silence in the hall. Alex felt desperate to make some sound. Then he saw the fat professor rise to his feet and begin to clap. He clapped alone for some seconds, until one of the students at the Slytherin table rose to join him. Then two others – and then the entire hall was clapping. There were no catcalls or stamping, but the clapping continued, every student on their feet.

Then Dennis Creevy was walking forward from the Gryffindor table, his arm outstretched. Mr Creevy jumped off the stage and ran towards him. They shook hands and then hugged each other tightly, and every student cheered.

"Are they father and son?" Marion whispered.

"Yes," said Boot. "The other son died here two years ago."

"Oh. Oh golly," said Marion. "I'd heard… died right here?"

"I didn't see him killed. I was here when he was brought in, though."

"I was told about the trouble, of course. It just seemed like some kind of historical thing." Marion looked very subdued.

Boot touched a small scar on his cheek. "It was a bad time," he said grimly.

As Mr Creevy remounted the dais, Professor McGonagall shook him warmly by the hand. "You're very welcome here, Mr Creevy. Very welcome," she said.

All four of the new recruits sat down at the teacher's table. Viktor Krum had to bring his broom with him, and it stood upright between himself and the fat professor.

"Muggle Studies will now be taught from first year on," said Professor McGonagall. "It will be compulsory for all students having no Muggle parent up to O.W.L.'s. I consider this subject as being perhaps the most important that we teach at this school. I hope you will all view it as seriously as I do."

She suddenly raised both hands, palm upwards, and the students jumped to their feet – the first years slightly behind everyone else.

"And now, to your dormitories. I hope we can look forward to a successful year."

"Right, first years," said Bolt. "Time to show you to your beds. Follow me."

Marion stepped forward and touched his elbow. "Excuse me, please. Can Sophie and I be in the same room? She's a bit lonely about her sister."

Bolt raised an eyebrow. "That's not going to be a problem. There's only four new Ravenclaw girls, so you'll all share a room."

Marion reached out and held Sophie's hand and they followed Bolt out of the Hall. Alex followed closely behind.


	20. 20 - Staff Room

Staff Room

Harry watched the students progressing out, feeling an urge to run after the Gryffindors. He felt a tap on his arm, and turned to see McGonagall smiling. "We normally have a drinks reception for the staff after the feast," she said. "Get to know each other."

"That will be nice," said Harry. Would it, though? It was so strange to be a teacher.

"I don't know how I'm going to do this," said Hermione, shaking her head.

"Come off it," said Harry. "You started teaching in first year. 'Win _gar_ dium Levi _o_ sa'. Come to think of it, you were telling me and Ron what to do on the train before we even got here. Ow!"

Hermione drew back her hand to slap him again. "Hey, you're still half student. I can give you detention," he said.

"Well, I'm half teacher, so I can let myself off," she said.

He caught sight of Mr Creevy wandering vaguely towards a door at the back of the platform. "Hang on a minute," he said. "Something I have to do."

He ran over to Creevy and tapped him on the shoulder. "Mr Creevy," he said, quietly. "It's me. Harry Potter."

Mr Creevy turned and gave a huge smile. "Harry! It's Jerry. You're grown up now. You were at the funeral. I didn't get a chance to talk."

"I just wanted to say… I'm sorry about Colin. He was a special boy. You must know that, of course."

Mr Creevy nodded. "He worshipped you, y'know. Whenever he came home from the holidays, he'd always tell me how he was talking to Harry Potter, and how you were friends, and he'd show me the pictures he took. I used to tell him not to bother you so much."

"I wish I'd given him more time," said Harry, thinking about all the occasions when he'd snapped at Colin, or even hidden from him.

"Oh, don't think I don't feel the same way," sighed Mr Creevy. "For a while, all I could think of were the times I'd ignored him, or told him I was watching the telly, be quiet. But he was a happy boy. Dennis told me that, over and over."

"I wish I'd been kinder," said Harry.

"He said you were good to him, and you wouldn't make a liar of him, would you? Eh?" said Mr Creevy, clasping Harry by the shoulder.

Harry shook his head.

"It's been hard. I didn't think it could be worse than when my Sarah went, when the boys were only babies, but she'd had a life. I won't say it gets easier, but you learn to cope."

"I was surprised to see you at Hogwarts," said Harry. "I mean, yes, to visit, but to live here?"

"Oh, I know what you mean. I was so angry, at first. You don't expect a school to be attacked, children killed, do you? I blamed everyone. Blamed McGonagall. Blamed you. Told Dennis he wasn't going back. He told me he was." Mr Creevy shook his head. "We had some fine old arguments, but he put me right."

"Won't you miss your friends, back in…"

"Back in the Muggle world," said Mr Creevy, laughing. "Well, I will, but here's the thing. We know that Colin was a hero, that he died fighting for something he believed in, when he didn't have to. Now, I can talk to you about that, but back where I lived – it has to be an accident, something that didn't mean anything. Well, it did mean something, and I wanted to be where everybody knew that."

"I… I was to blame, Mr Creevy, at least… I let them fight, instead of surrendering. I could have…"

Mr Creevy shook his head. "I won't say I understand all the goings on. I'll say this – you saved a lot of people, and you never thought about yourself. No more than Colin did. That's good enough for me. I'd be grateful if you just let go of any guilt you might be feeling."

"I'll try to…" began Harry.

"No, just do it," said Mr Creevy. "If I find I'm starting to think about all the things I didn't do, I think about all the things I did, that I'm glad of. Leaving the army, spending time with them. You concentrate on what you did for him. The good times."

They were at the door of the staff room, and a beaming McGonagall ushered them in. "No snacks, Har… Professor Potter. We usually don't, after a feast. There's Mead, Party Punch and Fire Whiskey. Help yourself. Professor Creevy, it's wonderful to have you with us."

"Well, that was a meal and a half, that was," said Mr Creevy. "I don't normally partake, but I will have a little something just this once."

Horace Slughorn strode forward and grasped Mr Creevey's hand. "Mis Ter Creevy. How glad, how very glad I am to be among the first to welcome you here. The first Muggle teacher at Hogwarts. Not before time, sir, not before time. We have had a catastrophe, a disaster, as who knows better than you. But we must build on this. Create something better. If there is any way I can assist you, please do not hesitate to call on me."

As Slughorn and Creevy chatted (with Slughorn doing most of the talking) Harry looked around the room. He noticed that Hermione was talking earnestly with Viktor Krum. He felt a sudden pang as he realised how Ron would probably feel about it.

He strode over and held out his hand. "Hello, Viktor," he said. "Haven't see you in quite a while."

Viktor Krum turned and looked at Harry, a long unblinking stare into his eyes. Then he grasped his hand in a bone-crushing grip, reaching around Harry's shoulders to smack him hard between the shoulder-blades with his left hand.

"Harry Potter. My comrade from adventure of goblin on fire."

"Goblet of," said Hermione faintly.

"We drink toast to Cedric later. I speak to you at the wedding, but you are disguise." He shrugged. "And then you must to leave quick."

"How did you get away?" asked Hermione.

"There were many of them, too many to fight. But I had my broom. Then it was fun, for a while. I let them chase me. One or two got close, and…" Viktor gave a grim smile. "Then they bunch up. Too many, so I get away."

"What was it like, in Bulgaria?" asked Hermione.

"Was bad. Not bad like here, but not good. Stupid people – the kind who remember 'good old days', of Grindelwald – they try to take charge. Try to link up with Voldemort. Was some fighting."

"What did you do when it was over?" asked Harry. "We're trying to sort it out now. Who gets punished, who can we trust – all that."

"Was not difficult. We tell the people, if you side with Voldemort, you are enemy. Stand down now, will forgive. Some fight, with us, with them, most hide."

"Did you send the prisoners to Nurmengard?"

"No, was not an issue." Viktor smiled again, even more grimly. "We give fair warning."

"Goodness," said Hermione.

"Tell me," continued Viktor. "The Muggle. He is popular, yes? His son is head boy?"

"It's not just that," said Hermione. "His older son, Colin – he died in the battle of Hogwarts."

"Is father of hero, then. I will talk to him. First – Harry, you are Quidditch player, yes?"

Harry nodded.

"Oh, Harry's very good," said Hermione. "He was the Gryffindor seeker for years, weren't you Harry?" She sounded slightly unsure. Hermione had loyally supported Harry, and then Ron, in their Quidditch matches, but had never really developed a deep interest in the game.

"I see Harry in tournament. Good flier. Best players are on house teams, yes?"

"Pretty much, yeah. Of course, it doesn't always balance out. Sometimes one house will have half a dozen good chasers available, and another house barely a couple." Harry hadn't thought about Quidditch seriously for years. He'd forgotten how much he missed it.

"I will train the best players in special sessions," Viktor said. "Perhaps, one, maybe two will be professional standard."

"Madame Hooch pretty much left the house teams to themselves," said Harry, doubtfully.

"Yes, we will do better now. Harry, will do big favour? For first session, I like that you are there too. Help with training."

Harry grinned widely. "You want me to help you? That's fantastic. I mean, I'd be happy to."

"Now I talk to Mr Creevy, I think," said Viktor, and walked off, again slapping Harry hard on the shoulder.

They looked after him. "Well, Viktor, eh?" said Harry.

"I told him you were very good at Quidditch. The best speaker – seeker – for a generation, they say."

"Best at Hogwarts, maybe. I wouldn't expect Krum – Viktor – to be impressed by that. He's played at a World Cup!"

"Well, he must be impressed if he wants you to help with training. That was a bit tough about the Bulgarian Death Eaters, wasn't it?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. Bellatrix was in Azkaban for years, but then she got out. If she'd been – well, not around – then Sirius would be alive. Dobby would be alive."

"Or some other Death Eater would have killed them. And we'd all be a bit more like Death Eaters ourselves." Hermione put a hand to her forehead. "I don't…" She staggered for a moment.

"Hermione – are you all right?" Harry took her by the arm and guided her to a chair.

"I'm all right. It was just… I never talk about what it was like – when Bellatrix did… that. The pain was awful, but that was the least of it. It was… oh, I don't know."

She reached for a glass of fire-whiskey and drained it in a gulp, then choked and coughed. "I'm fine. I keep thinking I'm over it, and then..."

"Listen, Hermione, if you want to talk sometime…"

She shook her head. "Goodness, Harry, it's not important. Nothing to what you've suffered over the years, or the poor Weasleys, or Neville. I've been very lucky, truly."

She glanced over to where Viktor Krum was talking to Mr Creevy.

"Do you see them?" she whispered. "I wouldn't have thought Viktor would be so gentle. There's more to him than playing Quidditch and killing Death Eaters."

Harry felt the presence of someone behind his shoulder and looked around. It was Sybil Trelawney. "Ah, Professor Potter. Where you belong, at last. As I predicted, many times. Miss Granger."

"I thought you saw the Grim and predicted Harry's death," said Hermione.

"I saw a black beast, and death," said Professor Trelawney. "So it came to pass. I struck down the beast, but it was too late… too late… poor, poor girl."

Professor Trelawney wandered off, muttering sadly to herself.

"Oh, dear," said Hermione. "I didn't mean to upset her. We've all got raw wounds at the moment, I suppose. I've never got on with Trelawney and now I'm going to see her every day."

"She liked me," said Harry. "That was worse. She couldn't stop predicting disaster."

"Well, I'll try to be nice to her. I remember when Umbridge tried to sack her. She was pathetic, the poor creature. I think Dumbledore took her in because he knew she had nowhere else to go."

"I used to be harder on the professors because I didn't expect to be doing it myself."

"I know! I've been working out my lesson plans for weeks. Honestly, after Christmas I don't know what I'll be doing. Thank goodness I've only a handful of classes to teach. How about you, Harry?"

Harry sighed. He should be used to Hermione's efficiency by now. "Well – I have a couple of ideas. I must have a word with Mr Creevy.…"


	21. 21 - Potions, Muggle Studies And Brooms

Potions, Muggle Studies, and Brooms

Alex was surprised to find that he'd slept comfortably through the night. The huge four-poster bed with its velvet hangings was surprisingly comfortable. At first sight he'd assumed it would be stiff and scratchy.

He automatically joined Sophie and Marion for breakfast at the Ravenclaw table. Alex was pleased to see that Sophie seemed a lot calmer after she'd had a good night's sleep, though her eyes were a little red. They sat and chatted for several minutes, with Sophie looking around as she ate.

Suddenly she jumped up. "Oh, there she is!" She waved.

Marion grasped her by the elbow. "Go over, say good morning, and then come back," she commanded.

"But she'll want to talk… you don't know what she's like, you only met her yesterday."

Marion sighed. "We talked about this. I know what she wants because she _said_ what she wants. Say hello, ask if she's all right, tell her _you're_ all right, then _come back and leave her alone._ "

For a moment Sophie looked as if she might break out crying again, but nodded and ran off.

"We were talking for hours, last night," said Marion. "I know more about those girls than I do about myself."

"They'll be seeing each other every day, pretty much. It's hardly a huge separation."

Marion nodded. "My brother went away to boarding school three years ago and I never see him for months at a time. I think we fight less now when we do see each other."

Sophie ran back and sat down. "Amy's fine! She's friends with that girl Janice, and she was chatting away. I think you are quite a wise person, Marion. I shall rely on you for sensible advice in future."

"I really wouldn't," said Marion. "My mum thinks I'm a great fool sometimes."

"Mums are like that," said Alex. "They don't really mean it."

Sophie was glancing casually at a discarded newspaper when she gave a sudden start. "Alex! That's you!"

She pointed to a picture on the front page.

"I can't see anything," said Alex. "I do recognise… it's that woman from the café."

"You have to tilt it," said Sophie. "Look, if you turn the page, you're just at the edge of the picture."

"Oh no, do I look like that?" said Alex. The picture showed him staring open-mouthed across the café while his father was speaking to him earnestly.

" _Heroes Reunited – A Heartwarming Story from Rita Skeeter_ ," read Sophie. " _Heroine of the resistance Hermione Granger meets close friends Bill and Fleur Weasley, the Beauty/Beast combo who provided refuge for the Order of the Phoenix. Allegedly part-Veela, easy-on-the-eye Fleur first came to prominence in the Tri-Wizard…"_

"What do we have first?" interrupted Marion.

"We have potions, then Muggle studies, then broomstick training," said Sophie.

"I'll rely on you for timetables, Sophie," said Marion. "Do we play this Quidditch game then?"

"Not in first year," said Alex. "We need to learn to use our brooms first."

"Thank goodness for that," said Marion. "I hate sports. I wouldn't mind being able to fly, though."

Sophie looked a little sad. "Please be careful, you two," she said softly. "It's quite dangerous. There can be accidents."

"Careful is my middle name," said Marion. "I will stay three foot off the ground at all times."

"It will be supervised," said Alex. "We won't do anything silly."

Potions was quite a jolly affair. Professor Slughorn introduced himself, and then asked each of the class their name. He passed briskly over most of them, but paid particular attention to one or two. He spoke at some length to Sophie, chuckling as he remembered her parents. "Heart and soul of Hogwarts, people like your mum and dad. Steeped in tradition. I've no doubt you'll do 'em proud."

He didn't spend long talking to Amy, though, and hardly spoke to Alex or Marion at all. Then he addressed the whole class.

"Potions is the very essence of what you'll learn at Hogwarts. Charms or hexes are all very well, but they aren't _precise,_ you see. You'll find that some of you have a gift for certain kinds of magic, and some of you won't. In you from the start, one might say." He gave Sophie a beaming smile. "Potions, now – if you don't get 'em right, you get nothing at all. Or worse, oh dear me yes, or worse, if you're not careful. I remember…"

Professor Slughorn proceeded to recount a long series of anecdotes, and was surprised to find that the class was over before he'd done any actual teaching. "Be sure you all have your cauldrons and books for next time," he called after them.

"That wasn't so bad," said Marion, as they hurried down the corridor to the staircase which was swinging around to meet them. "If all he does is chat then this will be pretty easy."

Alex shook his head. "My mum says that potions were really tough. The trouble is that Slughorn rabbits on like that for a while, but suddenly he expects you to whip something up and you don't know what to do. Better read up a bit before next time."

Muggle Studies was very different. Professor Creevy was much quieter than the ebullient Professor Slughorn. He began by asking them to place their wands in a rack.

"Please, sir," said Marion, raising her hand, "why do we have to put our wands away?"

"Well, now," said Professor Creevy, "you won't be doing any magic in this class, because that's not what it's about."

"We could just put them in our pockets," said Marion.

"You could, come to that," said Professor Creevy. "But then, you'd have the temptation to use 'em to do I don't know what behind my back. And I really _don't_ know what. So better safe than sorry, eh? Right, now, gather around. No desks today, pull up the chairs, and we'll just have a chat."

He began by asking how many of them had Muggle parents, and how many of them had mixed at all with Muggles. Sophie looked quite ashamed to admit that she'd never spoken to a Muggle, but several of the Slytherins looked quite pleased with themselves.

"That's good, then. So here's your first lesson. Talk to each other. I know you tell each other how the Wizarding world works. Don't you lot from the wizarding families think you know it all – because y'don't, you know. Learn from each other. When you say this is how it works with us, ask how it works with the other lot."

A number of the Slytherins looked sceptical, and one of them sniggered. Creevy gave him a sharp look, and he was instantly quiet.

"I know some of you don't think there's any point to finding out about people like me. You can do all this wonderful stuff. All these clever things. Flying on sticks, walking through walls, and I don't know what else. Brilliant. But tell me, why do you hide?"

The children looked confused. Nobody spoke.

"You do hide, though, don't you? That's rule one, that is. Don't be seen. Don't be noticed. Now, forgive me if I'm wrong, but things don't hide when they ain't scared of something. Fox don't hide from the rabbit. Even your great lord whatsisname, he didn't let any of us lot knew he existed, 'less he was about to murder someone."

A Slytherin hesitantly raised his hand. "But… we're stronger than y… than Muggles. Everyone knows that."

Creevy shook his head. "No. You ain't. You can do all sorts, control us, confuse us – but if you were ever to be found out – that'd be bad for you. You can tell yourself it's all for our benefit, but the fact is, you're scared of what we might do. There's so many of us, y'see."

The children sat staring at him. He laughed. "Nobody ever said this to you before, did they? I was saying the same thing to the fourth years this morning, and they were proper upset. All that time being told how they had to keep out of sight, and nobody wanted to say why. Well, now you know. So, what are you going to do about it? You, what's your name, Fyng. Stand up now. What's it like, living in the Muggle world, being a wizard."

Alex stood up nervously. "Well, it's just… I've always lived with Muggles. I went to Muggle school. It's just normal."

Creevy nodded his head vigorously. "That's right. That's right. You go back and forth between Muggle and Wizard and it's all ordinary for you. You get the best of both, you see. Now, you, on the other hand…" – he pointed to Sophie – "You said you never go into the Muggle world. Never been to a Muggle shop, read a Muggle book, talked to a Muggle."

Sophie blushed and looked downcast.

"Don't get me wrong – you look like a nice kid, and it's not your fault – but there's a whole world out there you're missing out on. That's what this class is for."

He held up a book. On the cover a man wearing a frock coat and top hat was waving his hands around aimlessly.

"This is the textbook I'm supposed to teach from. I had a read of it, and well." He shook his head. "Now, I'm not going to swear in front of you kids, but I wouldn't use it to line a bird cage. It must've been written back in the thirties, with little bits added in over the years."

He pointed at the picture on the cover. "Nobody dresses like this nowadays except funeral directors." He flipped open a page at random.

"'Unlike broomsticks, airyplanes frequently explode and fall from the sky.' Well, now, if they did, we wouldn't use 'em, would we?"

He looked again. "'Muggles have photograph machines called cameras, but unlike Wizard pictures, Muggle pictures do not move.' Apart from films and television, that is." He closed the book and hurled it across the room, where it landed in a waste bin, which swallowed it with a gulp. Mr Creevy jumped and grinned.

"This isn't going to be about you lot passing some exam. It's not going to be a way for you to learn about Muggles like people on the other side of the world. You're going to be able to share the world with us. Like it used to be, back in the day, when there were witches and wizards in every town and village. Before it all went wrong, with witch trials and all. Faults on both sides, I dare say, probably mostly us Muggles."

"I've a lot of time for wizards. Had two sons who started doing magic before they could walk. I want the best for all of us. The more we all know, the better we'll get on together. Maybe one day we can all live together openly, eh?"

He reached into a bag at his feet and took out a handful of magazines, with pictures on the cover that didn't move. "Now, let's get started. Clothing. What do Muggles really wear?"

Unlike Professor Slughorn's class, Muggle studies was very demanding. Every member of the class was interrogated in turn. Those from wizard families were asked what their preconceptions were about Muggles, and the ones with Muggle parents had to explain what their life was really like. Professor Creevy continued to probe them about their ideas and attitudes.

When the class had finished, Alex was exhausted. He'd thought that he'd have had a restful time in Muggle studies, having lived in the Muggle world, but he had found that a lot of things he thought he understood he didn't.

"That was hard!" he whispered to Sophie as they gathered their books. "I felt like I was teaching, not learning. Though… I suppose I was learning, as well."

Sophie looked thoughtful. "I'd thought that Hogwarts was all about learning to do magic, but there's a lot more to it, isn't there? I almost feel that I've learned more in the last hour than all the rest of my life. There's this vast world, billions of people, and I've just ignored it. And you – you've been learning about it your whole life."

"I don't think that's down to me, you know," said Alex ruefully, as they walked out of the classroom. "I didn't have any choice about learning about the Muggle world. That's just where I lived."

"You're lucky. There's so much out there, isn't there? I thought the Muggle world would be dull and boring – like being a squib in our world, just with something important missing. But Muggles can do nearly anything we can, can't they? They just have to do it differently."

Alex smiled. "Funny, all those years looking at the wizard world from outside – I really wanted to be part of it. I never appreciated being a Muggle."

Sophie patted him on the shoulder. "Well, you should. Oh, dear, it's brooms next. I _am_ worried, I can't help it."

Realising the time, they ran through the castle to the main entrance, and down to the Quidditch pitch. They found the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff pupils already lined up and waiting, beside a stack of school brooms. Along with the other Ravenclaws they joined them.

There was a figure chatting to one of the Gryffindors and it was several moments before Alex realised that it was Viktor Krum. He looked small and awkward on the ground, and when he moved to stand in front of the class he was bow-legged and clumsy in his movements.

His voice, however, was powerful and compelling. "I am Krum. I am here to teach you to fly. I am here to teach you to use _this!_ "

He held up a broom. It was battered and old, covered with stains and cobwebs, its underside scorched as if it had been snatched from a fire. "It is not much to look at, is it? Ignored, battered – but you can use it to…"

Suddenly, he was in the sky, far above their heads. He seemed almost a speck, turning, looping, barely touching the broom. For two or three minutes he swooped above them, sometimes leaping from the broom and catching it again. Alex was transfixed.

All too soon it was over. Krum swooped down, his feet skimming the grass, and he stopped gently, and held the broom aloft.

"I find this broom discarded, on a shelf. It is old, yes, but I, Krum, I know it for what it is. It is Goblin-made – yes, Goblins made brooms, long ago. Too fragile now, for rough work, Quidditch, racing – but there is nothing finer in this school."

He gently placed the broom upright, and it floated, swaying gently. "You too, you are not regarded. This broom was forgotten because it is old; you are ignored because you are young. You have no experience."

He pulled a wand from his robes and gestured at the pile of brooms. The brooms detached themselves and one made its way to each of the children, lying beside them. "You are lucky to have no experience. The person who did not know this broom…" – he gestured beside him – "…that person would not tell you what you need to know. Who has flown before?"

A handful of hands were raised. Alex noticed with surprise that one of them was Amy's. He hadn't noticed her at the other end of the line. He turned to Sophie, and saw that she was biting her lip and shaking her head.

"No…I can't…" Suddenly she had turned and was running back to the castle. Alex gaped after her. There was a blow on his shoulder. "Come on, Alex. Let's fetch her back." It was Marion, of course.

Sophie had a good start, and was running hard, but after about two hundred yards she stopped, and stood staring at the sky. As they caught up with her, she stared at them wildly. "I can't!" she said, "It's too… I was the one who found her. She was… what if it happens again? She should be frightened, not me."

Marion grasped Sophie by the shoulders, and looked her in the eyes. "Sophie. Would it make you happier if you and Amy were to quit brooms? Ask to be excused."

Sophie turned away for a moment, then looked back and nodded.

"Right," said Marion briskly. "Would it make Amy happier?"

Sophie looked at her for a moment, her eyes widening. "I see. I see. Amy would never forgive me."

"She would, you know," said Alex.

"Oh, she would, and that would be worse. Now I have to go back, looking like a fool I suppose."

Marion grinned. "They're just as likely to think we ran away and then you talked us back," she said.

"That is the story I will attempt to promulgate," said Sophie, as they scampered back to join the class.

Krum ignored them as they arrived. He was giving instructions. "Summon the broom to your hand. Do not grasp it! I see so many of your elders, even the best, clinging to their brooms so fiercely. So firmly! They master the broom as a slave. You… you will learn to make the broom your friend."

He walked over to Amy. "Good. Good. See, she has the broom under her hand, but it is not touching. Feel. Feel it pushing. It wants to fly. It wants to be ridden. It must sense your will. You will not need to drag it, to wrench it around."

Alex could feel the broom tugging and pushing to be free. As he tried to push down, it seemed to twist and writhe. It suddenly wriggled loose, twisted upright and fell to the ground.

"This is impossible!" he whispered to Sophie. "We'll never get to fly."

"I hope so!" said Sophie. His broom had begun to spin along its axis, the bristles in the brush end spreading wide.

There was a shriek from Janice. Her broom had shot forward into the sky in a great arc, before plunging downwards and embedding itself in the ground.

"That is good. You have the power. More control. Fetch it, fetch it," called Krum.

"Oh, dear," said Janice, and she scampered after her broom.

"You think this is too hard!" shouted Krum, watching as the class struggled to make their brooms behave. "It is the only way you will have true control. Soon, soon it will come to you. Do not try too much. Small movements. You, boy…" He looked at Alex. "You have it now. Ah, no, you do not. Try harder."

Alex swore under his breath, convinced that if Krum hadn't spoken to him he'd have finally controlled the squirming, almost liquid seeming stick.

At the end of an hour, they were all tired and grumpy. Several of them had sent their brooms flying into the air like Janice. Some were unable to get them to move at all. Nobody seemed to be able to make the broom do anything.

Then, gradually, people began to turn their heads to one of the Hufflepuff boys. He was turning in a circle, his arm outstretched, his broom hovering just under his hand. He turned completely twice, then moved his hand slightly back and forth, making the broom tilt.

"What is your name, boy," said Krum.

"Er… Adolphus Liekos," the boy replied. "Addie. Professor."

"I am not a professor," said Krum. "This," - pointing to the boy's broom as it hovered – "is good. Soon, you all will do this. I tell you, there are men who play Quidditch, professionals, who cannot do this properly."

He folded his arms, his legs apart. "There is a mistake they tell you about flying. They tell you that the broom flies, that you ride it. This is not true. The broom flies, and you fly, together. You will learn this. You will not cling to your broom to save yourselves. You will travel together, as companions." He gestured to them to continue.

By the end of the lesson, Alex had managed to raise the broom to just under his hand, and lower it to the ground. He glanced at Sophie. "This is so hard. I thought this would be the fun lesson, flying around."

She shook her head. "If it's a lesson, they always make it difficult. Look, I can pull it towards myself now."

Krum clapped his hands. "This is good. We finish now. Leave your brooms there."

Adolphus Liekos raised a hand. "When will we be able to fly, sir?"

Krum shook his head. "Christmas. Perhaps. Perhaps spring. Flying is dangerous. Very dangerous." He looked around the class. Alex thought he gave particular notice to Amy. "You will fly as safely as I can teach."

Alex thought that Adolphus was about to reply, but he bit his lip and turned away. Sophie ran up to Krum.

"Professor, I'm sorry for running away like that. I just…"

"Not professor. Krum. Or sir. You understand the danger, I think?"

Sophie reddened and nodded.

"You come back. That is good, too. We must fight our fear." Krum walked away, gesturing with his wand at the pile of brooms. They rose up together and followed him in an orderly queue.

"I think I'll have a quick word with Amy," said Sophie. She ran over to where a group of Gryffindors were pushing the wheelchair up the slope.

Alex felt a tap on his arm. It was Adolphus Liekos. "Er… hello," said Alex, doubtfully.

"Hello, Alex," said Adolphus. "I'm Addie. I'm your cousin."


	22. 22 - Exile

Exile

Ron leaned back on his chair, folding a piece of parchment into a paper plane. "Neville!" he called across the office. "Any more tea left?"

Neville Longbottom, leaning over a pile of papers, shook his head. "Sorry, Ron. I'm trying to get this paperwork finished. There's a separate form for every Death Eater we arrested, and they all have to match up. Mr Shacklebolt wants every detail to be checked. This is going to be the biggest trial in wizarding history."

Ron sighed. Neville's devotion to duty reminded him of his brother Percy. He looked at the pile of papers on his own desk. "Y'know, Neville, when I joined the Auror's office, I didn't think I'd spend all day filling out paperwork. I was only here a week when we were out catching evil wizards by the dozen, but since then…"

Neville gave a little giggle. "To tell you the truth, Ron, I'd much sooner stay here and do paperwork. I was a bit… you know… after going to the Malfoys."

"Yeah, I know. Still." Ron riffled through the foot-high stack of parchment on his desk. "I thought that leaving Hogwarts meant no more homework."

"Weasley!" The voice came so suddenly that Ron nearly fell backwards off his chair.

"Blimey! Yes, Kingsley. Er, boss. Sir."

Kingsley Shacklebolt sighed as he looked at Ron's desk. "That should really have been finished days ago, Weasley. Never mind."

He looked across to Neville. "Longbottom. Would you mind finishing up Weasley's paperwork for him?"

"Not at all, sir," said Neville, blushing.

Ron winked and gave a thumbs-up to Neville behind Shacklebolt's back.

"Don't be happy about it, Weasley. I've a much nastier job for you. Ideally, we'd have kept you and Longbottom in training, but we've so few good people now."

Outside the office two Aurors were waiting for them, both women in their thirties. Shacklebolt led them down a corridor to a narrow spiral staircase descending to a part of the Aurors' building that Ron had never seen before.

"It's not spiders, is it?" asked Ron suddenly. "I mean… it's not like I'm that scared of them, but I'd rather…"

"It isn't spiders," said Shacklebolt shortly. "It's nothing good though."

He unlocked the door to a shabby small room. There were empty shelves along one wall, and on a rickety plywood table, a battered metal bucket.

"Portkey? Where are we going?" asked Ron.

"Need to know, Weasley. You don't," said Shacklebolt, pulling a roll of parchment from his robes. The four of them gripped the bucket and vanished.

They found themselves in a ruined, roofless church. Ron looked up and saw tall mountains on all sides, silhouetted against a bright, clear sky. He felt a sudden surge of dread and fear. He looked through the window and gasped in horror. The hillside below the church was covered with Dementors. There were too many to count, but there could not have been less than a thousand. He reached for his wand.

"Don't do that!" snapped Shacklebolt. "They are holding back. If they attempted to drain us – well, with that many of them we'd be dead in seconds. If we were lucky. So for God's sake don't provoke them."

A single Dementor appeared in the porch-way of the church. Shacklebolt stalked towards it, gesturing to the other Aurors to follow.

"We have your safe conduct?" said Shacklebolt, his voice ringing out.

The hooded figure nodded.

"Then let me tell you what is going to happen. You will cease to carry out your attacks on all human beings, wizard and Muggle alike. You will vacate all the areas where you now congregate, with the exception of places established for your use by duly constituted authority."

"We have… to feed." Ron had never heard a Dementor speak before. The sound was worse than he could have imagined. It was a hoarse whisper, but it sounded like a damned, unremorseful, evil soul screaming in agony.

"You do not," Shacklebolt replied firmly. "You hunger. That is your eternal state. You hunger as much when you have fed as when you have not. You are better kept from temptation."

"We will not accept thisss…" The Dementor seemed to be trying to move forward into the church, but was unable to do so.

"There was a war, a war among wizards. You could have kept out of it. You chose a side, and lost. If you do not accept…"

"We will nottt…"

"Then the war will continue. The cost will be high, but you will be defeated, and destroyed." Shacklebolt's voice quavered for the first time. He waved Ron forward and placed a hand on his shoulder.

The figure said nothing for several seconds, but only stood there, swaying.

"Azkaban was our home…"

"Azkaban was forfeit when you freed the Death Eaters," said Shacklebolt. His voice sounding shakier.

Ron found the voices fading. He found himself seeing a succession of images, each more terrifying than the next. Himself, lying unconscious under a shattered giant chess piece. His sister Ginny, possessed by a Horcrux of Voldemort, directing a basilisk to kill – then killed herself as it turned on her. His father, dying from a wound inflicted by the giant snake, Nagini. His brother Bill's face torn open. George crying over the body of his twin Fred. Percy angrily disowning his family. His mother lying dead, a laughing Bellatrix Lestrange standing over her. A weeping Hagrid carrying the body of Harry Potter. Hermione, tortured, while Ron was helpless, tied up in the cellar. Lavender Brown, torn to pieces by Fenrir Greyback.

Shacklebolt's fingers dug deep into Ron's shoulder. He tried to fix on the pain, but it seemed far off. He felt at his neck, trying to grasp for Slytherin's locket, whispering horrors to him in the middle of the night. Then the final image came – a green flash, and Hermione lying dead in the Room of Requirement. He could hear screaming. "Why is Ron screaming?" he thought. "He's the only one left alive."

Suddenly he found himself being wrenched around and dragged back to the Portkey.

"We're done," whispered Shacklebolt in his ear. "Let's get out of here."

A moment later they were back in the tiny room in the Aurors' building.

"Chocolate, chocolate," said Shacklebolt, rummaging in his pockets. "Well done, the three of you. I couldn't have done that alone."

Ron looked at the others. Their faces were pale, and one of the women had been crying. "Not sure I wouldn't have preferred spiders, sir," he said. "Still beats paperwork though."

They laughed, a little too hard.

"Is it finished, sir?" asked the taller of the women. "Do… do we need to go back?"

"It's done," said Shacklebolt. "They aren't brave or resourceful creatures. They always give way. They'll lurk where people don't go. Ruins, deserts – anywhere abandoned. I gave them the list."

"All of 'em?" asked the other woman, who had been crying.

Shacklebolt shrugged. "There'll be a handful who try it on. We'll have to show them the consequences."

He slapped Ron on the shoulder, and Ron realised how sore it was from Shacklebolt's iron grip. "Go home, Weasley. Take tomorrow off. Here…"

He handed Ron several large slabs of chocolate, then strode out, accompanied by the taller woman.

"There were things that really happened… and things that didn't…" said Ron slowly, to the other woman.

"Yeah, that happens. They take your worst memories and your fears and jumble them up. Right, I'm going home for a hot bath and an early night." She shook hands with Ron. "All in a day's work, eh?"

As she walked out, Ron leaned heavily against the table. "A day's work? Is this what I want to be doing?" He shook his head wearily.


	23. 23 - Quidditch

Quidditch

"Harry!"

He jumped as Hermione seemed to materialise at his elbow.

"Where did you come from?" he asked. "I thought I was the one with the invisibility cloak. Time-Turner again?"

She tutted. "There are no Time-Turners left. Harry, are you coming to my course, tomorrow? It's for advanced sixth and seventh years, but several members of staff will be attending. An Advanced Hermeneutics of Post-Wand Application and Theory."

"What is it about?"

"Exactly what I said, of course. I think you'll find it interesting. I've the preliminary reading list here." Hermione pulled out several sheets of paper densely filled with quite small handwriting.

"Er… well, I can't look at it now. I've to go down to the Quidditch pitch. Krum asked me to help out with the advanced practice sessions." Harry couldn't suppress a note of pride in his voice. Krum was the most famous Quidditch player in the world, and though Harry had beaten him in the Tri-Wizard tournament, he didn't think that he was in the same class on the Quidditch pitch.

"Oh," said Hermione. "Er, I'll walk down with you then. I thought I'd watch the practice."

Harry couldn't remember when Hermione had ever watched a Quidditch practice session before, except when Ron had been trying out for keeper. He raised an eyebrow.

"I thought I'd watch while you show Viktor what you can do. He's never seen you play, and I expect you're as good as he is."

Harry laughed. "Nice of you to say, Hermione, but I'm nowhere near Krum's standard. He makes professionals look bad."

"I'm sure you'll do very well. He must have thought you were good, or he wouldn't have asked you!" said Hermione, briskly.

"I suppose so," said Harry. It was a pleasant thought. Harry had always loved Quidditch as a way to escape from his troubles. He now realised how much he'd missed it.

The Quidditch pitch was packed with players. All four house teams were there, together with a number of hopeful players who hadn't quite made it. There were nearly as many pupils in the stands as for a house match – clearly the chance to see the great Krum was a major attraction.

Viktor Krum and Ginny were talking together, each holding a broom. Harry and Hermione walked up to them.

"Hello, Ginny. Hello, Viktor," said Hermione.

"Ah, Hermione. So good to see you. Potter," said Krum.

"Er. Hello, Viktor. Hi, Ginny," said Harry.

"Hermione. Professor Potter," said Ginny, briskly.

"I'll go over to the stands, then," said Hermione.

Krum clapped his hands together once. "Gather around me. Who are the captains?"

The team captains of Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin stepped forward and stood beside Ginny.

"Good. Now you pick teams." The various players started to move towards their captains, and Krum held up his hand. "You pick only from other houses. Not own house."

For a second, they looked bewildered. Then the Ravenclaw captain pointed to Harry. Then they called out names in turn, or in some cases, pointing.

"Pick everyone. Everyone gets time, today," said Krum.

They continued until every player on the pitch was grouped behind one of the four captains.

"Finished?" asked Krum.

"Just a minute," said Ginny. She gestured at the Hufflepuff captain's team. "She's only got one decent beater there. Better swap one of her chasers with one of Lindsey's beaters. He's only three chasers, and one of 'em's not played a house match before."

The players were reorganised. "OK," said Krum. "We play quick matches, ten minutes, then swap out one team. See what you do. Try best, don't worry."

He pointed to Ginny and the Ravenclaw captain. "You go first."

Harry held up a hand. "Um, Victor? What if I… if someone catches the Snitch?"

"We carry on anyway. Catch, release again."

Harry hovered on his broom, looking at the unfamiliar faces around him. There were two Gryffindors on his team, but he only knew them from practice. The rest he could hardly remember. Ginny must have been studying all the players as soon as she arrived back at Hogwarts.

The match began, and Harry noticed to his surprise that Ginny was playing beater. She was a versatile player, having alternated between chaser and seeker, and even keeper in practice matches, but never beater before.

The match began in some confusion. Harry was glad that he was a seeker, and didn't need to interact with the other players on his team. The three chasers looked entirely confused, not knowing what manoeuvres to perform. The chasers on the other team looked more at home. Harry realised that Ginny had picked three Slytherins. Within a minute the quaffle had passed through his team's hoops three times.

Harry wasn't particularly concerned. When he'd played for Gryffindor, they'd been behind on many occasions, but never so far behind that the one hundred and fifty points gained by catching the snitch wouldn't have won the match. He continued to turn and scan for the familiar golden flash.

He suddenly caught a glimpse and dived towards it. The Ravenclaw who was playing seeker for the other team was quickly behind him, but he had a lead and the snitch was almost in his grasp.

Suddenly there was a blur in front of his eyes. Ginny had smashed the bludger straight in his path. He veered away momentarily, but the snitch had swung in the opposite direction. The opposing seeker flashed past him and had the snitch in his grasp.

Harry was furious. He'd rarely missed the snitch because of the bludger before. What was Ginny doing anyway? The beaters were supposed to be holding off the chasers, not interfering with the hunt for the snitch.

At least he would have another chance. Usually he kept half an eye on the progress of the match, but now he was entirely focussed on the snitch. Before the ten minutes were up, he had caught it twice. Then Krum called his team off the pitch. He watched fascinated, at the blend of excitement and confusion. Ginny was quietly coaching her team as they played. Her seeker wasn't watching for the snitch – he was watching the other seeker. As soon as the other seeker started to move, he tracked him, and one of the beaters smacked the bludger at him. The tactic was extremely successful. He wondered if it was Ginny's idea, or Krum's.

He played twice more, catching the snitch once in each game. When Krum called a halt he was bruised, tired, dirty, and as happy as he had felt for years.

Krum waved everybody together. "OK, now I see what you can do. Now we play a little Quidditch. Weasley, you captain one team. Take him, her, her, Potter, her, him…" Krum pointed rapidly. "You, you, you, come with me."

The two teams separated. Harry looked around at his teammates. "Er, Victor? We seem to have three extra players. We've two seekers, four…"

"Yes, I know. Carry on," said Krum curtly. "Begin."

Harry had sometimes played in huge, informal games where there were many players on each side, but this was supposed to be proper Quidditch. Ginny's team had many more players than Krum's. It would be a walkover.

It was, but not in the way Harry had expected. While Harry and the other seeker on his team hovered above the action, scanning for the snitch, Krum was everywhere. He zoomed among the opposing chasers, making them fumble the quaffle and pass it to the opposition. He slipped between the beaters, tricking them so that one of them hit the bludger at the other. His team, though outnumbered, were scoring freely. Ginny was frantically directing her players, but they were hopelessly confused.

It's up to me, thought Harry to himself. While Krum was dashing about in the middle of the chasers and beaters, he wouldn't be able to watch for the snitch.

As so many times before, Harry sensed rather than saw the snitch – it was a momentary glimpse of gold. The other seeker on his team hadn't moved, and Krum was …

Krum was there ahead of him, out of nowhere, his hand reaching just ahead of Harry's, not grasping the snitch, but flicking it with the back of his hand, sending it spinning away out of sight. And then he was gone, vanished among the other players.

Harry returned to his position above the fray, trying to follow Krum and look for the snitch at the same time. It didn't help. This time he deliberately flew to block Krum, but a bludger came straight at him. He swerved only slightly, but it was enough for Krum to get ahead of him, the bludger passing between his body and the broom.

After a while, in desperation Harry tried to follow Krum in weaving among the other players, but soon became lost in the confusion. He ran into Ginny at one point, and both of them nearly fell off their brooms. As she regained her seat, Krum's team scored again with the quaffle.

Harry became increasingly frustrated. He hadn't always reached the snitch first, but he'd never felt so effortlessly outclassed. But then, as he began to understand what Krum was doing, the admiration for his artistry overtook his resentment. Krum wasn't using magic, but his skill was magical in itself.

They seemed to play for hours. Gradually, Ginny managed to organise her team to take some advantage from her extra numbers, but even so, Krum kept his team outscoring hers. The game ended as Krum matter-of-factly plucked the snitch from the air before Harry had even seen it.

They slowly floated to the ground. Harry felt drained. He had tried harder than in any Quidditch match he'd ever played in, but had never come close to the snitch. Yet he felt strangely satisfied. He knew that he couldn't play any better, and that he'd done his very best.

As Krum descended in a slow spiral, there was a round of applause from the stands. Many of the spectators had left, thinking that he wouldn't be performing – but those who had stayed were enthralled.

He waved to gather the crowd around him. "Everyone – thank you, good. I have learned much. We have a lot to do, but some good talent."

He folded his arms. "A few years ago, some of you perhaps remember, I came to Hogwarts for Tri-Wizard Tournament. I represent my school, Durmstrang. This man," – he struck Harry briskly on the shoulder – "he is champion. Brave, great wizard. But tragedy. Cedric Diggory, also Hogwarts, is murdered. Contest is manipulated by evil wizard."

There was a muttering among the players, and some of the crowd who were lingering on the outskirts. Few of them had been at Hogwarts when the Tri-Wizard Tournament had been held, but they had all heard of it.

"Tri-Wizard Tournament will not be held again. Not for many, many years. But friendship, contact between schools – that is a good thing. So, we have a Quidditch tournament. Tri-Wizard Quidditch Cup. In two months' time, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons school teams will come to Hogwarts. I will train the Hogwarts team." His voice raised to a shout. "And we will win!" Everyone cheered.

"One more thing. New rule. Catching snitch will end the game, but score zero point."

There was consternation, with almost everyone talking at once – but the voice that resounded above everybody else was Harry Potter's – "That's rubbish!"

Everyone stopped talking and looked at him. Ginny looked furious. Krum was grim-faced. Harry blushed. "Er, I mean… well, it's not Quidditch, is it? It's always been one hundred and fifty points for the snitch, for hundreds and hundreds of years."

"And it's always been a complete pain!" said Ginny hotly. "Playing for two hours and building up a solid lead, then losing because someone gets their fingertips to that little golden shuttlecock! It's completely unbalanced. The rest of the team work their… their socks off, and then the seeker gets all the credit."

"Is true," said Krum. "I, Krum, I am best seeker in world. I find it a bore. See, this is what a seeker does." He pulled his wand from his pocket, and outlined a frame in the air. Green lines appeared, and then, as Krum gestured, a tiny figure on a broomstick, hovering and looking vaguely around him.

"That's me!" said Harry involuntarily. Do I look like that? he thought. Just sitting there, watching.

"That is how seeker plays in Hogwarts. Also many teams. Dull. Do you know, there are teams that just watch for the snitch? Beaters, chasers, even keeper, just watch for snitch. I love Quidditch. My life is Quidditch. This is what I want."

He gestured at the screen, and the flickering image of Harry floating serenely changed to Krum, flying from end to end of the pitch, shouting, directing, thumping against the opposing team, deflecting the bludger and the quaffle, and finally grasping the snitch.

"Total Quidditch!" barked Krum. "Every player, active all the time! The seeker part of the team, not floating by herself! Tomorrow, we begin a new chapter in Quidditch!"

There was huge applause. Harry looked around and he was the only person not clapping. Krum started to gather up the broomsticks, and the crowd slowly dispersed. Harry was about to trudge off when Ginny tapped him on the arm. "I wonder if I could have a quick word, Professor Potter?" she asked demurely.

He looked at her. "Perhaps I can spare a moment," he said. "We can walk back to the castle together."

"I'll just, er… see if Mr Krum needs me for anything. Putting the equipment away."

She walked over to Krum, who shook his head. She came back.

"He says that he'll put everything away. He'd rather do it all himself." They looked around. The players and crowd had dispersed. They slowly started to walk towards the castle, keeping a careful distance from each other.

"Anyone around?" said Ginny.

"No. Hold on a moment." Harry pulled the cloak from his pocket, stepped closer to Ginny, and swept it around them. They disappeared immediately.

"Quidditch shed?" he whispered.

"Good enough," Ginny replied.

They walked slowly, hand in hand now, until they reached the shed. "Better not go in," said Ginny. "Viktor will be along in a minute and he'll be rooting around inside."

"Viktor. Our friend Viktor," said Harry, witheringly. "You noticed that he carefully chose me as an example of what not to do?"

"Oh, Harry! He chose you because you _are_ very good. He just wants to show us a new way to play the game, that's all."

"He might have told me what he had in mind," grumbled Harry.

"Harry! Are we really going to spend our few minutes together arguing about Viktor Krum?"

"No," said Harry. "No, we are not."

About fifteen minutes later, when not a word had been spoken, Ginny suddenly said "Hush! I can hear someone coming."

"It must be Viktor with the gear… hang on, someone's with him."

They huddled under the cloak, keeping as still as possible.

"It's Hermione!" whispered Harry. "They're holding hands!"

Ginny grabbed Harry by the wrist and pulled him away.

"What are you doing…ow!" said Harry under his breath, as Ginny dragged him back towards the castle.

They walked in silence for several minutes. Twice Harry tried to turn to look behind him, but Ginny pulled him away. As they reached the foot of the West Wing, she pulled off the cloak.

"Ginny! That was Hermione! With Krum! Holding hands! That was…"

"That was none of our business," said Ginny firmly. "We weren't invisible so we could spy on our friends."

"But what about Ron?" pleaded Harry.

"I've been watching the psychodrama of Ron and Hermione for too many years," snapped Ginny. "They have to sort it out themselves. And I trust Hermione to do the right thing. Eventually."

"In the meantime…"

"Hermione has been through a lot, and she's had no-one to talk to."

"Why can't she talk to Ron?" said Harry fiercely. "He's supposed to be her boyfriend. Isn't he?"

Ginny sighed. "You know what Ron's been like for the last year. He's not been there for her. You know what? If she ends up going off with Viktor Krum I wouldn't blame her one bit. It's about time Ron realised that he can't just rely on Hermione being there whenever he feels like it. He's been taking her for granted, and she's been through a lot."

"So has Ron," said Harry.

"Ron's been leaning on the rest of us. Fine, I don't mind. It's been tough, for everyone. Fred dying… well, that hit us hard. We all leaned on each other. I leaned on you."

"But you helped the rest of them…" said Harry.

"That's how it works. It's not that I blame Ron – but he can't carry on as he has been."

They paused for a moment.

"So, what do we do?" said Harry.

"We do nothing. Nothing at all," said Ginny. "Anything we do will make it worse. Just… just trust your friend. All your friends. It's all we can do."


	24. 24 - Mad-Eye

Mad-Eye

Ron was sitting with his feet up on his desk, gesturing with his wand at a rotating ring of paper clips. At the next desk, Neville was sorting through papers. There was a knock on the door.

"Neville – you going to get that, mate?" Neville didn't answer. Ron sighed, and gestured with his wand. The door opened and a wizard entered, wearing dark robes. A hood covered most of his face.

"Weasley?" The voice was hoarse and rasping.

"Yeah?" said Ron, warily.

"You are to come with me. Training."

"Hang on – you aren't an auror!" said Ron.

"No." The wizard produced a scroll of parchment and handed it to Ron, who scanned it quickly.

"'Accompany the bearer… follow all instructions… take particular care… blah, blah, blah, Shacklebolt.' All right then. Who are you?"

"Croaker."

Ron stood up and holstered his wand. "Croaker? Hang on, aren't you Department of Mysteries? Bode's friend?"

Croaker nodded.

"Yeah, sorry about Bode. He was all right. What are we doing, then?"

Croaker said nothing, but beckoned, walking out of the office. Ron shrugged and followed him. They went through a maze of passageways and stairs, Croaker moving quickly without seeming to hurry, and Ron scurrying behind him. Several times Ron asked where they were going, but Croaker made no answer. They finally came to the atrium, filled as usual with scurrying wizards and witches, and entered a lift. A witch attempted to enter the lift with them, but Croaker held up his hand to prevent her.

They descended quickly to the ninth level. The door opened and Croaker led Ron down a black-tiled corridor lit by blue torches to a black door. Croaker opened the door and brought them into a circular room lined with doors. As they moved to the centre, the doors rotated around them and stopped.

"Death," said Croaker. A door opened, and he walked through. Ron hesitated, and then followed.

The room they entered was one that Ron remembered well. He'd been there when Sirius Black was murdered by Bellatrix Lestrange. They descended an amphitheatre, a bowl shape filled with stone benches, towards a crumbling stone archway. A tattered black curtain was hanging across the archway, fluttering slightly, though the air was perfectly still.

"Do not touch the veil," said Croaker.

"Wasn't going to," said Ron, a slight catch in his voice.

"You must listen for the voices," said Croker.

"I… I wasn't able to hear them. Before," said Ron.

"You will hear. You have seen death, and you are an auror. When an auror passes through the veil, there is a link to those who follow him. You must relive the last moments of the life of every auror that you have met. It is part of your training. Stand in front of the archway."

"Once you start talking you don't stop," said Ron, walking forward. "What do you mean, relive? Like, watch it happen?"

"You will experience their last moments of life as if it were happening to you," said Croaker. His voice remained flat and without emotion.

Ron stopped. "I… I'm not sure I want… is this compulsory?"

"No," said Croaker

"Well, then," said Ron, turning around, "I think I'll… maybe later, eh?"

"It is not compulsory, unless you wish to continue in the Auror's Office."

"Ah, yes. Well, that's lovely, then," said Ron, tightly. "That's a really good example of 'not compulsory', there." He stepped forward until he was close enough to reach out and touch the gently flapping curtain.

"You will hear certain voices. Concentrate on one of them. It does not matter which."

For a minute or so, Ron was sure that he couldn't hear anything. Then there was a faint rustling, that didn't seem to come from anywhere in particular. Then it gradually resolved itself into different sounds.

"Look after him… look after him for us. I miss him so..." It was a woman's voice, mournful and pleading. It gradually became louder.

"Not that one, Weasley. Not the first time. Too much for you. Fix on me." The voice was harsh, but not unkind. It gradually increased in volume until the woman faded, as if walking away.

"Simple enough, young man. I've told most of 'em by now. They all knew me. Nothing to be sad about. I was happy enough to go, in the end, if it served a purpose." He recognised the voice now.

"How do I..." began Ron – but suddenly he was in the air, flying over Little Whingeing. He was on a broomstick. Behind him Mundungus Fletcher was whimpering with fear. The night was full of flashes and shouts. Ron could see all in all directions at once – but in every direction, Death Eaters were swarming in.

He feels intense pain in half his body. Has he been hit with a curse? No, this is how he always feels. A body that has been battered and mutilated for years.

"Hang on, Fletcher," he mutters. "We can draw in more of them."

But suddenly the broom is lighter. "Fletcher, you cowardly… I'll make you sorry, when I catch up with you."

He's quicker, more manoeuvrable, now. He circles, bobbing and weaving. "None of these scum are worth a damn," he says to himself. "A chance to get rid of a few of them."

But then he sees the shape approaching that he knows to be beyond his powers, beyond any of them. Flying without a broom, death incarnate. He can only hope to delay, to frustrate for even a few moments.

Even that isn't possible. It's the worst curse, the killing curse, and he's too old, to slow to dodge it. At the last minute he spins his broom, ducking underneath it. The broom explodes, hurling him through the air.

He's barely conscious as he falls. "Come after me! Come after me, you..." but his voice is no more than a whisper, and he sees the figure swoop away, pursuing the other riders.

He catches his wand, spinning through the air beside him, and he gestures, producing nothing more than a shower of sparks. It's enough to draw the attention of several of the Death Eaters, though. He can see them spiralling down after him.

He sees the ground coming up towards him and he casts the charm. It's just a little bit too late. He braces his wooden leg and feels it splinter under him. He sprawls awkwardly, and sees the Death Eaters landing. Not close enough, yet. He rolls over. Not able to stand. They're approaching, warily.

The rules he's lived by repeat through his head, over and over. Bring them back alive if you can. If not, bring them back. Protect each other. Protect the weak, the innocent. If you can't get away, take as many as you can with you.

He mutters to himself, as he struggles to one knee. They are approaching warily from all directions, but he can see them all. He recognises a few. Some he's arrested. "That little scum Pettigrew used it to kill twelve Muggle bystanders. And he had to make sure he got away himself..."

They're close now, wands raised. He remembers his own lessons, so many years ago. "The blasting curse can be dangerous to the caster if not constrained...". He's in an empty field, with no Muggles nearby. He points the wand at the ground. They're almost in touching distance, emboldened because he doesn't seem to be defending himself. " _Confringo!"_

There's a blinding white light, and Ron is standing in front of the curtain, which hangs perfectly still for a moment. Then it begins to flutter again, and Ron can hear the woman's voice, imploring him. He steps away quickly.

Croaker is regarding him soberly. Ron gives him a shaky smile. "I… I'm all right, I think. He didn't want to die, did he? Even then?"

Croaker shakes his head. "Nobody does. Not at the very last."

"Have you?" asked Ron, gesturing at the arch.

"It's not required. For us. But yes, I have. My friend, Bode. I felt I owed it to him."

"Do I have to… again?"

Croaker nodded. "Not today, though," he said.


	25. 25 - Defence Against The Dark Arts

Defence Against The Dark Arts

Alex had been nervous before most of his classes, but especially Defence Against The Dark Arts. There wasn't much that could go badly wrong in Transfiguration or Potions, but he'd heard rumours about DADA. The students were tested against all kinds of spells and monsters, and were left to sink or swim.

The other intimidating factor was the new teacher. Harry Potter was the most famous wizard in the world. He'd defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort as a baby, then killed him as an adult. What would it be like having him as a teacher?

As they filed into classroom 3C, a voice muttered from the far end. "Sorry, what was that?" Marion called.

"I said, put your wands in the rack. You won't need them for this lesson." The voice sounded nervous. Alex looked at the end of the classroom and recognised that it was Harry Potter speaking. He didn't look very confident. There was another man standing next to him, much older and more self-assured.

"Sit down. I'm Har… I'm Professor Potter, and I'll be teaching this class. Defence Against The Dark Arts."

There was a murmur of voices. When they failed to settle, Harry suddenly snapped "All right, let's have some quiet!" He looked surprised at himself.

"I want you all to look around this classroom. It has the most dangerous creature in it that you will probably ever face. Does anyone know what it is? And give your name so I can learn who you are."

Alex looked around, and saw that everyone else was doing the same. There was the skeleton of a dragon hanging from the ceiling, and jars of specimens on the shelves. There were pictures of various creatures on all the walls. Which was the worst?

Sophie raised her hand. "Sophie. Aren't fully-grown dragons considered to be the most dangerous of the magical beasts?" she asked, sounding slightly tentative.

"Yes, that's true," said Harry.

"But Dementors can affect your soul, which is more horrible, isn't it?" she continued.

"Very good, Sophie. Five points to Ravenclaw. But you're wrong."

The class looked at each other, bewildered. Then Alex tentatively raised his hand.

"Is it…us?"

Harry clapped his hands together. "Very good, Mr?"

"Alex."

"Very good, Alex. Ten points to Ravenclaw. The most dangerous opponent any of you will ever face is another wizard. I spent all too many of my school days learning about Dementors and Boggarts and Redcaps. Cornish Pixies, for heaven's sake. It was useful information, up to a point, but when it came down to it, though, the real danger, the real battles were against dark wizards."

Harry paused and looked at the students. They seemed to be listening, for the time being at least.

"There's a huge mythology about fighting between wizards," he continued. "The etiquette of duelling, with bowing and so on. Well, let me tell you, that's all a lot of bu… rubbish. A dark wizard will go through all the protocols of duelling if he's sure he's going to win. If he's not, he'll cast a killing curse on you in your sleep."

There was a murmur of disapproval among some of the students. Harry held up a hand. "Listen, if any of you want to set up duelling clubs and practice all that – fine. I don't object. You might even learn something useful. It's just not what we're going to do here."

He pointed to the man standing by his side. "This is Professor Creevy. You probably know him from Muggle studies. Now, I saw something a few days ago – you may have read about it. There was an attack by dark wizards. I was talking to my cousin, a Muggle, and we were threatened by a wizard. I wasn't able to do anything about it – but Dudley – my cousin – grabbed the wizard's wand, broke it, and…"

"…and gave him a damn good thrashing," interjected Professor Creevy. "Now, I dare say that that can't happen very often, unless the wizard is careless and a bit daft. But it can happen sometimes. I'm going to show you a few tricks so that if you're facing someone with magic – and he has the drop on you, or he's better than you, or you don't have your wand handy – you'll have a chance. No guarantee, but at worst you'll go down fighting."

Harry took a box from the dais. "These are chopsticks – I bought them in a Muggle shop. They're about the same size and weight as a wand. I don't suppose any of you know any dangerous spells, but best not to take any chances – and we don't want to damage any real wands! Here, Alex, pass these around."

Alex handed out a chopstick to each of the pupils. Some of them clearly had never seen such a thing before. Alex recalled that when he'd visited Chinese restaurants with his mother, he'd always asked for chopsticks and pretended to use one of them as a wand.

"Split up into pairs, now," said Harry. "Never mind who, you can change around as we go. Right, Professor Creevy, shall we demonstrate? I'll be the dark wizard preparing a nasty curse. Professor Creevy will be the absent-minded wizard who's left his wand in the bathroom." The class laughed a little uncertainly.

Harry and Professor Creevy., stood facing each other, about six feet apart. Harry held a chopstick by his side, between his fingers like a wand.

"Obey me or suffer!" shouted Harry.

"Don't think I will," said Professor Creevy, stolidly.

"Then prepare to…oof!" said Harry. Somehow Professor Creevy had grabbed Harry's hand, spun around, and was holding Harry's arm tightly by his side, pulling Harry against his back. He placed his left hand on Harry's right, and pressed. Harry's chopstick fell to the floor.

"We'll do that again a few times, slowly," said Professor Creevy. "If you don't mind, Professor Potter."

"Nunno, that's fine," said Harry, a little bit breathlessly.

They took up their positions again. Harry uttered his threat, and slowly raised his wand arm. Alex was able to see, now, how Professor Creevy reached out to push Harry's arm away, then grasp it and pull Harry towards him. They repeated the exercise several times, and finally Harry sat down, his elbows on his knees.

"Right, let's you lot try it," said Professor Creevy. "First off, like a little dance. One of you take the wand, but don't try too hard or you might hurt each other. Here, you two start." He pointed at Alex and Sophie.

"Now, you, Sophie, you're the dark wizard. Alex, put your chopstick down. Now, when Sophie points her wand at you, I want you to reach out… like that… and just push her arm away. Then grab her wrist and pull it in _that_ direction."

"Sophie, just make up some nonsense spell name for the time being," said Harry, who'd recovered his breath.

"Everything gently," said Professor Creevy. "Nobody gets hurt. We practice the movements until they're second nature."

Sophie whipped up her chopstick. Alex flung out his right hand, but failed to make contact. "Splitissimus!" shouted Sophie.

"She's turned you into a frog there," said Professor Creevy. "Never mind. Give it another go. And the rest of you. Anyone left-handed? I'll show you how it works."

At the first few tries, Alex kept missing by inches. Once he swung so wildly that he overbalanced and fell on the floor. Sophie was laughing too hard to cast her pretend spell.

But the next time he feinted falling short, then stretched out, and slapped at Sophie's arm. The impact was just enough to flick the chopstick out of her hand. He pounced on it and snapped it in half.

"Alex!" said Sophie crossly. "We'll run out of them."

"That's true," said Harry, "but you've got the right idea. Well done, Alex."

Alex looked around. The rest of the class were laughing and shouting as if playing a new game. Professor Creevy was wandering among them, giving hints and instructions, and occasionally calming down the children who'd become a little over-excited or too rough. Professor Potter followed him, watching, and occasionally adding a comment.

"A lot of combat against dark wizards involves pure brawling," he said. "My friend Neville Longbottom once defeated a powerful wizard by jabbing him in the eye with his wand."

The class laughed. "I know, it's funny," said Professor Potter, "but it was a very dangerous situation, and it worked. Just remember – whatever works."

Amy had been paired with Addie. He was winning easily, stepping back as she tried to reach him from her chair. But then, as he stepped a little closer, waving his chopstick, she suddenly accelerated her chair at him, knocking him flat to the floor.

"Gently there!" called Professor Creevy. "Now, shall we change over? Whoever had the wand hand it over to your opponent and you have a go."

"That's those of you who haven't broke it," he added, winking at Alex.

Alex was annoyed to find that Sophie was very quick and surprisingly strong. She twice managed to snatch the chopstick from his hand, making a point of handing it back undamaged.

After a few minutes Alex had managed to cast his imaginary spell about as often as Sophie had disarmed him. He was aching slightly, but didn't want to tell Sophie so.

"Alex – can we pause momentarily?" said Sophie. "I had not realised that magical study would involve this degree of physical exertion."

Alex nodded. "If you like." He looked around again.

He noticed that Professor Creevy was now facing Amy, giving her hints as to the best way to protect herself from attack.

"Now then, let's have another go. You're the evil wizard, remember," said Professor Creevy.

Amy reached for her chopstick with her right hand and at the same time, used her left to pivot her chair. As Professor Creevy reached towards her, she raised her chopstick over her head and shouted "Goblipurpleboggle!"

There was a loud bang, a flash of blue light, and Professor Creevy was lying on his back, a dazed look on his face. Amy stared at the chopstick, looking astonished.

"Amy? Did you take out your real wand? No, I see you didn't. Are you all right, Professor?" Harry helped Professor Creevy to his feet.

"What was that, then?" asked Professor Creevy.

"Er… I don't know," said Harry. "I've never seen anything like that before."

"I didn't… I mean…," began Amy.

"I know. Don't worry, it's fine," said Harry. "OK, people, that'll do for today. You can clean yourselves up a bit before your next class."

He turned to Amy. "Amy, can you hang on for a moment. Nothing to worry about."

"I'll be off too," said Professor Creevy. "I've to teach some fifth years about the London Underground. Well done Amy, good blocking."

"Weren't you going to…" began Harry.

"Oh, yes, thank you Professor Potter. Now, listen up all of you. This is Professor Potter's class, and he'll be teaching all sorts, not just this kind of thing. But if any of you liked what you were doing today, we'll be having a few sessions out on the grass where you can fall over safely and not hurt y'selves. Let me know if any of you are interested."

He walked off, a little stiffly.

When everyone had left, Harry crouched down beside Amy. "Well, that was interesting. Do you have any idea what you did there?"

Amy shook her head. "I just had this vague idea of casting a spell, and shouted some nonsense words. And then, I don't know, I could feel something welling up in me. Is that usual? No, I can see that it isn't. I'm terribly sorry."

Harry shook his head. "Don't be. I've no idea what this all means, but learning to do magic is what you're here for. Even if we didn't plan to do any today. I tell you what – I'll have a word with Professor McGonagall, and we'll see if you need special coaching."

"Oh, that would be nice. I was afraid that you might be sending me away, or locking me up in Azkaban."

Harry smiled ruefully. "If you knew the people who ought to be there who aren't…"

"Professor – may I go now? My friends are waiting for me outside. I need assistance to get from classroom to classroom, you see?"

Harry looked thoughtful. "It's very kind of them to help you, but would you rather be able to get around by yourself?"

"Oh, much rather," said Amy fervently. "The castle is not especially wheelchair friendly, I'm afraid."

"Maybe we can do something about that. Off you go, Amy. We'll talk later."


	26. 26 - A Talk In The Library

A Talk In The Library

Harry was almost at McGonagall's office when he stopped. "I wouldn't normally do this," he thought. "I'd ask Hermione. Am I avoiding her?"

He shook his head for a moment, and then turned to make his way to the library.

He couldn't see Hermione at first, so he made his way to a desk piled high with books. He peered over them to see Hermione scribbling furiously, six or seven books lying open, and dozens more in heaps on the desk and floor.

"Harry!" she said, smiling. "Excellent. There's a volume in the Dangerous Books section I'd like to refer to, but I really need someone to subdue it while I check the index."

"Er… yeah," said Harry. "In a minute then. I was just going to ask your advice."

"Always happy to help," she replied.

"There's a girl – Amy – in First Year – you must have seen her, she's in a wheelchair. In my class today, she cast a nonsense spell with a fake wand, and it – well, it sort of worked. Is there something wrong?"

Hermione pursed her lips and steepled her fingers. "Well, in First Year I'd say that's not very surprising. After all, Harry, all of us started out with magic that just happened like that, when we were very young. You told me about that time at the zoo with your cousin, for example."

"Yeah, I had loads of things like that happen when I was a kid. When I had my own wand though…"

"Even then, for some quite powerful wizards or witches, the magic can just sort of… spill out of them. Harry, this is what my lectures are _about._ If you'd come along…"

"I meant to, but…" In the absence of an adequate excuse Harry spread his arms wide and tilted his head on one side, relying on Hermione to provide one for him.

"I suppose you do have to prepare for your classes – you should have asked me to help you. Anyway, there's a whole history of this kind of thing – wait a moment…" Hermione began to sort through one of the piles of books.

"There you are – _Manifestations of Magical Ability in Pre-Pubertal and Pubertal Wizards and Witches._ It's all in there – sleep levitation, poltergeists, possession, anything you could imagine really. The interesting thing is being able to harness this ability without losing the precision that…"

"Poltergeists?" interrupted Harry. "What, like Peeves?"

"Yes, exactly. They're manifestations of magical energy that allows an angry or frustrated teenager – well, any teenager, really – to act out in a separate physical form."

"Hang on – Peeves has been here for years. Who's manifesting him then?"

Hermione thought for a moment. "That's very interesting. I seem to recall cases where multiple children collectively manifest a single form. In which case, Peeves could simply be the repository of all the various adolescents who've progressed through Hogwarts, absorbing their excess sexual tension in order to… oh, don't smirk, Harry, you're as bad as Ron. Anyway, that might explain his persistence."

"OK – so it's quite normal for this to happen. Do we need to do anything about it?"

"Oh, she'll need some special classes to ensure that she can focus through her wand… actually, Harry, if you don't mind, I'd quite like to take her under my wing. As I'm studying the phenomenon, it would be very useful to me to have a working example, as it were."

Harry nodded. "That's fine, then. I'll tell her to come and see you." He got up, but stood there, wavering.

"Is that all, Harry?"

He shook his head. "No, that's it, really."

Hermione looked hard at him. "I think there is something else," she said quietly.

Harry turned slightly away. "It's just… after Quidditch, Ginny and me – we used the invisibility cloak."

"Why would you do… oh, of course."

"We were just trying to get some privacy so we went down to the shed where the Quidditch gear is stored."

"Oh," said Hermione.

"We weren't spying – you know we wouldn't, but…"

"But you saw me with Viktor."

"Yes."

Hermione played with her quill for a moment. "I know you didn't see me… do… anything, because I didn't. But there was…"

"A kind of moment?"

Hermione shook her head. "Not even that. But there was a closeness. Do you know, with all that he went through, Ron's never talked to me about how he felt about it? His brother dying, all the injuries, when he… went away like that and came back."

Harry grimaced. "Well, that's Ron. He doesn't like to… well, he grumbles all the time, but it's never about the real issues."

"It's all very well to say 'that's Ron'," said Hermione sharply, "but we're supposed to be a couple now. There's things I would like to talk about too. I've been lucky – I haven't lost anyone in my family – but there were bad things that happened to me as well."

"But…" Harry began.

"Oh, I know what you're going to say!" Harry, who wasn't at all sure what he was going to say, kept quiet. "Surely Viktor Krum isn't someone you can confide in? He's this strong silent sports hero. Well, when you get to know him, he's not like that at all. He told me what happened during the… when the war flared up for real. He saw horrible things. Some of them even worse than happened here. And I… I was able to tell him about… about Bellatrix. I've never really told anyone about how it felt."

Harry shuffled his feet. "Hermione, if you ever want to…"

Hermione patted his hand. "Harry, I know I can talk to you, but it shouldn't be your job. You bottle things up as much as Ron, I know, but at least you can talk to Ginny."

Harry nodded. "Ginny was really mad when I had that thing where I could sense Voldemort's thoughts, and I didn't talk to her about it. I've, well…"

"You got the point," said Hermione.

"I certainly did," said Harry.

"The question is, how long will it be before Ron gets it?"

"Have you…well, asked him?" said Harry, tentatively.

Hermione sighed. "I've started to, but he gets touchy and defensive and says he'd rather not talk about it."

"Maybe things will be better now he has a job."

Hermione shook her head slowly. "I'd have hoped so, but I'm not sure it's really the job he wants. He wrote to me about a mission he was on with Shacklebolt. I know he can't discuss specifics – it's all hush-hush – but I know he was upset, and I just wish he'd… oh, well."

"Where does this leave us, then," Harry asked.

"I'm not going to give up on him that easily, after all these years, if that's what you're asking. I waited for years for him to look at me as something more than a friend."

"It's just… I really want you both…" Harry suddenly found himself unable to speak.

Hermione smiled at him. "I know you do. I hope it all works out."

"And Viktor?"

Hermione shook her head. "Viktor is just a friend."

"Does he know that?" asked Harry wryly.

"I've told him very clearly…" began Hermione.

"Yeah, but what does Viktor hear? He's always had a thing for you. Hanging out with him – he might start to think he's in with a chance."

"I know you're worried that I might… lead him on. Hurt his feelings," began Hermione. That wasn't at all what Harry was worried about. "but I couldn't be plainer. He said that he accepts it."

"Good. That's… good."

"Harry, I'm going to sort things out with Ron. One way or another. Can you leave it with us? I promise you won't have him saying 'oh, you knew what was going on, why didn't you tell me?'" Hermione spoke in a level tone, but her eyes were pleading.

"Of course not! You're both our friends, and we trust you." Harry hoped it was true. At least if _he_ couldn't trust Hermione, he could trust Ginny to trust Hermione.

"Good. Now, can you please help me to subdue this book."


	27. 27 - Tonks

Tonks

Ron stood in front of the arch, shivering. Kingsley Shacklebolt stood a few feet behind him, his arms folded. Ron gazed at him over his shoulder. "Shall I?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

Kingsley nodded, and Ron stepped forward. He stopped a few feet from the fluttering curtain, and listened. He could hear nothing. He took a deep breath and moved slightly closer. He could hear the voices now.

He focused his mind, trying to pick out the woman. "I miss him so much... look after him for me... he's so young..."

And she's pacing up and down in the kitchen of the little house. The child is sleeping soundly, and her mother is knitting next to the cradle.

"I can't stay." She says it flatly, as a matter of fact, rather than a decision. He mother stands up, dropping her knitting on the floor.

"No! Dora... darling, you can't! Look at him! You can't both leave him! It's too much to ask. Ted's gone already. I couldn't bear it"

"Nobody's asking, mum. They told me to stay. But what if they lose? What if they lose because I wasn't there?"

"You're just one person!"

She looked hard at her mother. "Everyone who's there is just one person. They all have good reasons for staying away."

"They don't have a baby! What happens to him if you... if you..."

She smiled. "I'll be back, mum. Of course I'll be back, with Remus. We'll be fine."

He mother stared at her, wild-eyed. "I'll go. You stay. Someone has to stay with the baby, and it should be his mother. I can..."

She hugs her mother, suddenly. "Oh, mum. Oh, mum. I do love you. You gave up everything, your family, just to get away from the violence, the killing. You don't have an ounce of it in you. You stay here and look after Teddie. I won't be long."

"Oh Nym... darling. Take care."

She laughs. "Oh, call me bloody Nymphadora, I know you're dying to."

"Goodbye Nymphadora. There's just one thing. If you see my sister... if you see Bellatrix..."

She waits for her mother to speak.

"She'll come for me. She'll come for him. If you see her, kill her. I can hide him from the others, but her – she'll never give up."

She says nothing, but nods.

And she's in the Room of Requirements, sitting with Ginny Weasley and Mrs Longbottom. They're talking awkwardly. She doesn't like Mrs Longbottom much, but she's very fond of Ginny. Ginny's like her, in so many ways.

Harry Potter arrives, and chases them out of the room. She would have stayed there, with Ginny, but now they're in the fight and she moves to a window, ready to use her training, her skill. She asks where Remus is, and she's told he's fighting. And suddenly she can't wait in safety.

She knows now what to do – what nobody else can do. She looks for a mirror, and prepares. The Death Eaters are in the castle now, and there's chaos everywhere. She wants to find Remus, but there isn't time.

She stretches her face in a few exercises. The duck that always makes the children laugh. Then her mother – the face she's done more than any other. Now it's tricky, because she has to work from a few snatched glimpses, and photographs. She takes it slowly, but she's very good at this – far better than Hermione Granger was, using potions. She can become the person whose shape she takes. When she's done, she sees her aunt's face in the mirror. Bellatrix Lestrange.

She doesn't like to look at the face. This woman hates her. She might be the only person in the whole world who hates her. She's funny and kind and popular, but her aunt wants to kill her because she exists, because of her father and husband and child.

She wants to join the fight. There are people screaming and falling and dying around her, but she has something to do which is more important. She's very clumsy, but somehow, she's able to skip past what's going on without anyone noticing her.

She finds a group of twelve Death Eaters. They've worked their way around the side. Most of the Death Eaters had attended Hogwarts, in Slytherin. They know Hogwarts as well as anyone, and they know some secret ways that the others don't. If they get behind the defenders, trap them between two fires, then the battle is lost. The leader is Yevgeny Subbotin. She's seen his file. He's not a leading figure, but he's dangerous enough.

"What are you doing here?" She doesn't get the voice quite right first time, and they look surprised. She hoarsens, adds in the rage from the years in Azkaban. "You were sent to the Ministry. Why are you not there?"

"Er... were told to..."

She can't let them stop to think. "The Dark Lord has issued new orders! There is a traitor among us! Go to the Ministry. Arrest Umbridge, and all of our people there. None can be trusted. Await orders."

"But we..." Subbotin must have been given strict orders. He wasn't sure what to do. So pressure.

"Shall I tell the Dark Lord you refused his direct order? That our victory was lost because you knew better than he? You let Umbridge assemble a traitorous army to attack us in the rear?" She spits and snarls, thinking of nothing but hatred.

"Come on then! Come on!" calls Subbotin, and they creep away.

"Do not be seen! We do not know how many traitors there are among us," she calls after them.

She moves slowly through the corridors and looks for Death Eaters. Some she sends to London, others she stuns and binds while they are distracted. She collects their wands as she goes. She looks across a staircase and sees Dean Thomas hiding, without a wand. She throws him one that she's confiscated, and skips back out of sight. It falls at his feet, and he picks it up, surprised but grateful.

Eventually she finds herself in the Entrance Hall, where a battle is raging. She hesitates for a moment, unsure how to proceed. If she stays as Bellatrix she risks being attacked by her own side.

She's trying to make up her mind when a figure emerges from the other side of the Entrance Hall. They each see each other at the same time. It's Bellatrix, the real Bellatrix.

For a moment, they are both bewildered. But Bellatrix is clever, and quick, and she's been obsessed with her sister and her sister's family for many years. "It must be you. I had thought I would have had to hunt you down after our victory, but you've made it easy for me. A pity in a way. I wanted you to watch while I killed your brat."

And she attacks Bellatrix with a savagery she's never known before. Bellatrix was trying to provoke her, but didn't realise how dangerous she could be. She hurls curses, hexes, jinxes, all in a flurry, no effort in defence. Bellatrix is hurled across the floor, smashing against the foot of the stairs, and nearly drops her wand.

But Bellatrix is dangerous too, perhaps the most dangerous of all the Death Eaters apart from her master. She seems helpless, but manages to deflect the next burst of spells, pulling herself to her feet.

They stand facing each other, a few yards apart. Two Death Eaters run into the Hall, and gaze bewildered between them. "Get away!" they both snarl. The Death Eaters turn and run out.

For a moment they feint, pretend to cast again – and then it recommences, each of them hurling spells too quickly to think. They are designed to hurt, to shatter, to wear down. She's the younger, the stronger – but Bellatrix is sustained by her rage and hate.

They stop again, shield against shield, no opening given. The floor of the hall is cracked and burned by the intensity of the fight.

"I _will_ kill you," says Bellatrix, gasping. She spits blood onto the flagstones. One leg seems unable to bear her weight. "Then I will find my sister, and my nephew. I will cleanse our bloodline."

She allows her features to relax, back to her own face. If this is the end, she wants to be herself, at the last. "I don't think you will, auntie. The first time we met I needed a week in Saint Mungo's to recover. It takes it out of you, this fighting. You don't have a lot left, do you? I reckon a first year could take you now."

Bellatrix forces herself upright. "I am stronger than you, girl. Strong enough to kill."

She smiles, through tears of pain. Is that a broken rib? One eye closed, a loose tooth. "You lot don't ever get it, do you? Just like Lily Potter – if I have to die, for my child, then he's protected. From you, from your daft boss, the whole lot of you."

She's confident now. She has an edge, a feeling that she is just strong enough to finish this.

Then she sees it, out of the corner of her eye. High on the staircases, which keep shifting as the battle continues. There's an explosion, high above, and a body is falling. The shape, the shabby suit, she knows almost at once who it must be. The worst thing in the world has happened. The body strikes the floor of the Hall between them, a horrible smashing sound, something that can't be survived. For a moment she doesn't care about anything but what has just happened, cannot think about defending herself, cannot think about anything except the terrible loss that seems impossible, unbearable.

And Bellatrix has just enough strength to cast the one spell, the final spell. There's a bright green flash...

...and Ron stumbles backwards, away from the veil. He's shaking, and almost falls, but Kingsley holds him upright.

"It's all right," whispers Kingsley. "It's all right."

"How..." gulps Ron, "How can you bear it? How do you keep going?"

"We keep going for her," replies Kingsley, firmly. "For her, and Remus, and their child."

He half carries Ron to one of the benches, and sits him down.

"When Fred died – I thought it was the most terrible thing that could happen. I mean, I didn't know her _that_ well. I liked her, of course..."

"We all liked her," said Kingsley. "We loved her. She was the best of us – the Aurors, the Order."

Ron buried his head in his hands. "I saw Fred die. I was so angry. I wanted to kill as many of them as I could. Now, this... I just... there's nobody to fight over it. Mum killed Bellatrix. That should help, shouldn't it?"

"But it doesn't," said Kingsley.

"No, it doesn't. It's such a horrible waste."

"There's a reason we make people do this, Ron. Well, several reasons." Kingsley usually sounded stern, but he was speaking softly now. "You need to know what can happen to you. Really know."

Ron nodded. "I thought I did. After what I saw, with Harry. This... this was different."

"You need to appreciate why we do this," Kingsley continued. "What we are trying to prevent."

Ron suddenly sagged forward. "You need to go home," said Kingsley. "We'll see you on Monday."


	28. 28 - Cousins

Cousins

"So you never knew you had a cousin," said Sophie, buttering toast.

"No. Well, Dad left home when I was young, and Mum never mentioned any relatives on his side of the family. I hardly saw him." Alex held his cup out to the teapot, which politely refilled it.

"So, he's on your father's side?" She took a small bite from the corner of the toast, leaning over the table to avoid dropping crumbs on her robes.

"He's Dad's sister's son. She told him about me a short while ago. She's kind of outside the wizard world as well, apparently. Not in the Muggle world though – which I didn't really understand."

Sophie glanced over at the Gryffindor table. Addie was sitting several places down from Amy. There seemed to be a group of students chatting.

"What's he like?" she asked.

"He seems nice. Why, do you think he isn't?"

Sophie shook her head. "No, he's fine. It's just… in Defence Against, he was paired up with Amy. I thought he was… never mind."

"No, go on."

"Well, I thought he was kind of bullying her. And then when she managed to get his wand off him – he looked angry for a moment. Oh, it's silly." She looked away from Alex and stared at her toast.

"Yes, but you know how Amy hates when people don't go all out against her. She probably knows Addie quite well from the lessons with Gryffindor and Hufflepuff," said Alex. There was a little quaver in his voice.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… you're quite keen to get to know him, aren't you?" asked Sophie.

"Well… it's not as if I don't have any family, but I don't know Mum's relatives very well. Gran is fine, but she never understood why we were living like Muggles. 'How do you light the fire without magic?' she was always asking us. And not having Dad around…" Alex blinked. He felt suddenly very emotional, and he wasn't sure why.

"Well, you should get to know him. Blood is thicker than pumpkin juice," said Sophie firmly.

"But if you're right about…"

"Well, if it turns out you don't like him you don't have to spend all your time in each other's pockets. Look at Amy and me. We have our own lives."

Alex gave a little grin. "You're fine with that, are you?"

"Of course! I realised that Amy needs a bit of independence. She'll always be there when I need her. Now, time for Herbology."

Alex glanced at the clock. "You head on, Sophie. I'll just…" He tailed off as Sophie left, running to catch up with Marion. He walked over towards the Hufflepuff table. Addie noticed him and jumped up and walked towards him.

"Hi, Alex," he said with a smile. "I'm just off to Charms. Where are you going."

"Herbology," said Alex.

"We can walk some of the way together then. If that's all right?"

"Nunno, that's great," said Alex.

"Mum said 'be friendly, but don't bother him if he doesn't want'. But she'd really like the family to be closer." They walked out of the Great Hall and stared at the maze of staircases.

"Did she and my dad have a quarrel then?" asked Alex.

"Well, it all happened even before I was born, I think. Our granddad is a bit of a rough diamond. Not a bad person, but not presentable in the best Wizarding society, let's say. Your Dad wanted to cut ties with him, and my Mum – well, she wanted to be friends with everyone."

"And my Dad broke off contact?" Alex had assumed that his father had had a problem with his mother, or her family. This didn't seem to fit.

"Well, I only know what Mum and Granddad say. I'm sure your dad has his own side of things."

Alex thought for a moment. "Dad said… he kind of implied that his father – our granddad – was mixed up with… well, Death Eaters. Voldemort's lot."

Addie shook his head. "I've spent a lot of time with him. He's talked to me about Voldemort, and Death Eaters. I promise you, he despises them. Really hates them. And the Dark Mark…"

"What's that?" asked Alex.

"It's this thing on the arm that Death Eaters have. Well, Granddad doesn't, I know that!"

Alex still looked dubious.

"Mum said to tell you – don't do anything your dad said not to. You don't have to meet granddad unless your dad says it's OK. Still, there's no reason why _we_ can't be friends, is there? And maybe our parents will end up getting on well too." Addie looked up at the main staircase. "I'd better get on. Professor Flitwick is a nice enough chap, but it wouldn't do to annoy him."

Addie ran up the stairs, hopping across the gap as one of the flights started to veer away. Alex looked after him. He wanted to talk to his mother or his father. There seemed to be something he didn't understand going on. He shook his head, and walked down to the greenhouses.


	29. 29 - Poltergeist

Poltergeist

Harry had just finished a class with fifth years from Hufflepuff and Slytherin, and was feeling slightly nervous. Several Slytherins had been cheeky, and he'd docked them a number of points. "Was that the kind of thing Snape used to do?" he thought. Snape. How did he feel about him? "I still pretty much loathe the man," popped unbidden into his head.

Discipline wasn't that much of a problem, though a number of older pupils who'd known him when he was at school found it difficult to accept him as a professor. The big problem was teaching the NEWTs course. He kept telling the classes that he wanted them to know how to defeat dark magic in practice – but the pupils would have to take their exams at some stage. The OWLs class weren't a problem. Everything in their course was something Harry had experienced himself. The NEWTs course was different. How were vampires to be dealt with, for example? A stake through the heart, yes, but how does one actually go about it? He shook his head. He knew that as always, he'd end up having to ask Hermione about it.

He felt a sudden push in his back and nearly fell. There was a raucous laugh and a familiar figure flew past his head. It was Peeves, of course.

"Potty Potter's a professor now!" he cackled. "Thinks he's so clever!"

"Go away, Peeves," said Harry. "I'll get the Bloody Baron."

Peeves ignored the threat. "Thinks he's so clever, but he hasn't even got a wand!"

Harry reached for his holder and swore. His wand was gone. He looked up at Peeves, who was waving it just out of his reach, a huge grin across his face.

"Peeves!" he yelled. "Give that back this second!"

"Should be more careful, Professor Potty," screeched Peeves.

"I'll freeze you for a month!" shouted Harry. He was furious. He'd lost so many precious things, so many friends. Hedwig, Dobby, Sirius – it sometimes seemed as if his wand was the only thing he'd managed to cling onto. It had been broken, seemingly irretrievably, and then miraculously repaired.

"Freeze me with a spell, eh? Need a wand to do magic, Potty!" Peeves fled down the corridor, and Harry chased after him. Students leaped aside as Harry ran past them, his face white with anger.

Peeves seemed to be enjoying himself. He scooted up a staircase that had just begun to shift, and Harry had to leap across a three-foot gap to keep up with him. So furious was he that he didn't even notice the dizzying drop.

"Keep up, Potty!" he called. "Don't fall behind – or fall below!" He sped down a deserted, dusty corridor. Harry thundered after him. They ran past a series of closed doors, until they came to a dead end. Peeves had nowhere to go.

"Give me my wand, Peeves!" Harry yelled.

"Have to catch me first, Potfessor!" Peeves tapped the wall, and a gap opened, about a foot wide. Peeves squeezed through. Harry gritted his teeth and followed.

What he saw surprised him. The gap led into a cosy little study. There were two armchairs in front of a small fireplace. On a table between them was placed Harry's wand. Peeves was sitting in one of the chairs.

"Please sit down, Harry, and we can have a little chat." It was Peeves speaking, but it wasn't his voice. Harry watched in amazement as Peeves began to change shape, his features melting and reforming. After about a minute, his face settled into the familiar lines of Professor Dumbledore.

"Please do sit, Harry," the figure said, in Dumbledore's unmistakeable mellifluous voice. "I can assure you that this is, in a sense at least, me. On the other hand, I remain, unfortunately, dead. I would not wish to give rise to any false hopes."

Harry sat, staring at what appeared to be his former headmaster.

"I realise that this might be, at the least, a surprise to you," continued Dumbledore. "You will no doubt be looking for an explanation. Perhaps I had best begin with a brief dissertation on the nature of poltergeists."

Harry felt a sense of certainty that this was Dumbledore – or at least some trace of him.

"When you were a small child, Harry, you began manifesting magic in a somewhat uncontrolled way. Usually this is harmless enough, but in the case of a wizard or witch with exceptional power, it can manifest itself destructively."

For the briefest of moments, a look of enormous sadness crossed Dumbledore's face, immediately replaced with his familiar benevolent smile.

"The founders of Hogwarts soon realised that having assembled a large number of untrained magical children in a single place, that chaos and confusion would be ever present. They decided that it needed to be if not controlled, then at least focused and contained."

Dumbledore gestured at the table and a pot of tea, two cups and a plate of biscuits appeared. The pot raised itself and poured into the cups.

"The phenomenon of the poltergeist was first noted by Muggle parents raising magical children. They assumed that the inexplicable events were down to a kind of ghost – which they named a poltergeist, or 'noisy ghost'. Of course a true poltergeist is in a way the opposite of a ghost. A ghost is a remnant, what is left after somebody dies. A poltergeist manifests the excess magic of someone fully alive. In rare cases, this manifestation is of an actual human-like figure."

Dumbledore reached across and picked up his cup, and took a sip. "Excellent! Darjeeling. So Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin found such a figure, created by the most powerful of their pupils – a boy named Peeves. It was a shadowy, insubstantial thing, but they directed all the loose, disorganised magic into it. It became what is still the most powerful, most substantial poltergeist that has ever existed."

Harry picked up his cup and took a sip. He assumed that Hermione would have known all this. It was another of the many stories of the Wizarding world that continued to surprise him.

"Ideally, Peeves' poltergeist would have used all this power for something useful and constructive. Alas, that proved impossible, and if it was impossible for the four greatest wizards who have ever lived, I can't see how it could be done. But at least the dangerous magic was limited to jokes and mischief. Annoying as Peeves might be on occasion, his nonsense is nothing compared to what can happen when a powerful wizard… or witch… loses control." Again, the look of sadness shot across his face.

"My own family have been prone to this uncontrolled release of magic. It is an indicator of great power, and when I came to Hogwarts as a small boy, oh so very many years ago, I was an exceptionally powerful magician." Dumbledore drained his cup and held it out for the teapot to refill.

"I was also very curious. I was conscious of the power leaving me, and decided to trace its direction. When I found out where it was going, I then attempted to control it. A very difficult, very challenging exercise, Harry, but I was an exceptional wizard." Dumbledore dunked a biscuit energetically in his cup.

"I found that I could impart a little of myself in the transfer of power to Peeves, and maintain a kind of link to him. A fragile link at first, but over many years it became stronger."

Dumbledore raised the soggy biscuit to his mouth but before he could bite, it collapsed and fell on the floor. "As Headmaster, Harry, I am a conspicuous figure. People are on their best behaviour around me. Peeves, on the other hand… well, nobody contemplating mischief worries about being seen by the chief mischief-maker. I was always able, whenever I needed, to cast my mind into Peeves and to see what he saw. It meant, for example, that when a worried boy sought his family in the mirror of Erised, I could seek him out and offer some good advice."

"So Peeves was you all along?" asked Harry.

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, Harry, most of the time he was just as you have known him – an irresponsible jokester. The link was hard to maintain for any length of time. There is another difficulty. Staying linked to Peeves for any length of time, and one tends to adopt a somewhat irresponsible attitude to life. One certainly becomes quite anti-establishment."

"But now, you're – well, you _are_ Dumbledore, not Peeves, aren't you?" asked Harry uncertainly.

"For a very short while, yes," said Dumbledore. "I have been fortunate, in some ways, Harry, in having foreknowledge of my own death. My foolishness in falling into Lord Voldemort's trap has led me to focus my mind. I have had to plan in great detail, rather than do as I have done for most of my life – react to events as they happened."

For a moment Dumbledore's features twisted a little out of shape. He shut his eyes for a moment, and sat perfectly still. His face returned to its normal appearance. "It took considerable effort to control Peeves to this extent, Harry. To control him at all required great effort, and a degree of negotiation. To project that control years into the future, to embed part of my own persona inside him, was nearly impossible. To placate him, I had to allow him to snatch your wand. Stealing wands is something he's been forbidden to do for over a thousand years, so it was something of a treat for him."

Dumbledore took another sip from his cup. "I also had to agree to serve you Wee-Wee Tea from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes."

"What!" yelled Harry, jumping to his feet.

Dumbledore smiled. "Don't worry, Harry. You have another fifteen minutes before the urge becomes uncontrollable. I suggest making use of the girls' bathroom on this floor. I'm sure Myrtle won't mind."

Harry sat down nervously. "I'm going to explode Peeves later," he muttered.

"The closeness of the girls' bathroom is not unplanned," continued Dumbledore. "It is the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, and that is what I wish to talk to you about."


	30. 30 - The Chamber Of Secrets

The Chamber Of Secrets

"I consider that in general, I have been 'on top' of the situation with regard to Lord Voldemort and his machinations. Indeed, you might well be shocked when you hear to what extent this is true. Alas, Harry, even though I am very wise and very clever, I am not infallible. I am particularly vulnerable to the grave mistake of assuming that other people are as wise as myself."

"After the adventure of the so-called 'Philosopher's Stone' – I assume that another incarnation of myself has already _debriefed_ you about that – I assumed that Lord Voldemort was effectively subdued for the time being. Indeed, I was correct. The shapeless creature that he had become was even further damaged when his host, Quirrell was destroyed. It would take him several years to begin to be a threat again."

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "Never underestimate human folly and spite, Harry. Had Lucius Malfoy done as his master wished, and kept Tom Riddle's diary safe until his return, then it would have been a significant threat. Imagine the basilisk stalking the school while Voldemort assailed it from without. A terrifying prospect."

"But Lucius Malfoy is a trivial, vain creature. For all his pomposity and family pride, he is desperately insecure. His son has far greater talent and intelligence. Lucius was afraid to wait, and afraid to act. He dreaded the fate suffered by Bellatrix or Barty Crouch, trapped in Azkaban – but he also feared what might happen if his master returned, and he had done nothing. The ultimate vanity was failing to ensure that his house elf did not overhear his plans."

"So he slipped the diary among Ginny's books," said Harry.

"Yes. A foolish plan. Once out of his hands, the diary would act on its own – directed not by the mature Voldemort, but the boy Tom Riddle. As perverse, as evil, but far less experienced."

"Mr Weasley once said," said Harry, "never to trust anything that thinks if you can't see where it keeps its brain."

"Uncommonly insightful for Arthur. Oh, I'm being unkind. Put it down to Peevesishness. Yes, the diary was malignant and dangerous, but it had no plan, no strategy. If it had succeeded, what then? Some students would have been murdered, perhaps the school closed, and then a squad of Aurors would have descended. I would have directed them to the Chamber of Secrets…"

"You knew about the Chamber!" interrupted Harry.

"Harry, Harry, Harry. You and your friends discovered the Chamber after a few weeks investigation. I am far cleverer than all of you put together, and I have lived in this school for nearly all of my life. Of course I knew about the Chamber. I even know a number of the secrets, which I do not intend to divulge."

"But why didn't you…" began Harry.

"Act when I realised that the Heir was summoning the basilisk? Well, perhaps I should give a little background."

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He was conflicted between the desire to hear the truth, and the effects of the tea.

"You have no doubt heard the legend that Salazar Slytherin introduced the basilisk into Hogwarts in order to purge the school of the Muggle-born. That is true, as far as it goes. Slytherin did indeed have an irrational, senseless hatred of the Muggle-born, and he did leave instructions that the basilisk should be used for their eradication. He did create a secret chamber. But that is not what the basilisk was _for,_ Harry."

"But what could it have possibly…"

"Pest control. Simple pest control. Tell me, how was your experience in the forest when you went to visit Aragog and his kin? Pleasant?"

Harry shuddered. "I still get the horrors. Ron… well, he doesn't like even small spiders. So…"

"The prospect of being eaten alive by giant spiders is not a pleasant one for any of us. Tell me, Harry, in the course of the excellent education which you received in this establishment, was it explained to you why magical creatures are seen only by wizards?"

Harry shook his head. "Hagrid covered magical creatures from a more, er, practical point of view, Professor. He wasn't one for…"

"Not one for theory, no." Dumbledore smiled. "You see, Harry, magical creatures, whether created by wizards or not, are attracted by magic, and repelled by the mundane. That is why Privet Drive, among its other no doubt excellent qualities, is entirely free of dragons and hippogriffs. Had you lived there your whole life, you would never have seen a single magical creature – with the exception of the Dementor which was dispatched to find you. Even in that case, it was your own magical power which helped draw it there."

"Now, Hogwarts, as I'm sure you are aware, is one of the most magical sites in the world. The founders chose this place because it was already magical, and since then it has become ever more so. There was a risk that it might become infested with every kind of magical beast, from Blast-ended Skrewt to giant carnivorous spiders. That would not, I think you will agree, be a suitable environment in which to train young wizards."

"When a Muggle family finds itself plagued with pests, they will often acquire a cat, which enjoys disposing of them. Our own Mrs Norris performs valiantly against the more trivial creatures, but she would find even the least of the giant spiders rather too much for her. So the founders, in their wisdom, asked Salazar Slytherin to supply a creature that would fulfil the same role."

"Hang on, Professor," Harry interjected. "Are you saying the basilisk was brought in as a kind of… pet?"

"Well, Harry, it was there to do a job, and it did it remarkably well. I admit that the same could have been done using magic, but that would have required a huge effort. The basilisk was ideally suited to the purpose. It was able to manoeuvre through the pipes and floor spaces, keeping out of sight, and kill any of its natural enemies. Very soon, the mere threat of the basilisk was enough to keep the castle clear of pests, and it was able to spend its time in an enchanted sleep."

"But wouldn't it have been just as dangerous as the spiders?" Harry recalled his battle with the creature – the foulest he'd ever encountered.

"Indeed, it would have been," replied Dumbledore. "Basilisks are forbidden creatures. The fact that the Ministry of Magic positively encourages dragons indicates just how dangerous basilisks must be. No, three of the founders placed powerful charms on the creature to ensure that it would be unable to harm a human being."

"It did harm someone, though, Professor. Myrtle died."

"Yes, the one person killed by the basilisk in a thousand years. That was the first time I realised the power of Tom Riddle's will. He was able to force the beast to kill, in spite of the host of prohibitions placed upon it."

Harry frowned. "So, professor – you knew that it was Tom Riddle who had controlled the basilisk." Dumbledore nodded sagely.

"Then how could you let Hagrid be kicked out of the school when it wasn't his fault!" Harry felt a sudden spurt of anger at the injustice. It wasn't just Hagrid, but other unfair punishments. Sirius, unfairly imprisoned for all those years for a crime he hadn't committed. Harry himself, punished by Dolores Umbridge for no more than telling the truth.

"Firstly, Harry, while I knew what had happened, there was nothing I could do to prove it. Secondly…wait, Harry, let me finish…secondly, the basilisk was safe again. Tom Riddle was gone. The basilisk needed to be kept secret, or the fools and knaves who make up the board of governors and the Ministry would have demanded that it be killed. They were able to condemn a perfectly harmless hippogriff to death, after all. And thirdly – and this is the most important point – Hagrid was not expelled unfairly."

"But he didn't do anything WRONG!" shouted Harry.

"Yes, he did, Harry," said Dumbledore, quietly but firmly. "He brought Aragog into this school. You've seen him, full grown, in his power. His thousands of offspring. Hagrid was concealing the beast, feeding him."

Dumbledore shook his head, slowly. "Do you know, Harry, there isn't a man or woman in the world I admire as much as Rubeus Hagrid. Not even you, Harry. He has a generosity of soul that encompasses everything. To him, that horrific creature Aragog was as worthy of love and friendship as you or I."

Dumbledore reached up and wiped away a single tear. "If we were all like Hagrid, the world would be a better place, or at least, far more interesting. Alas, those of us charged with the care of our own young have to protect them from being eaten. Hiding giant spiders in the dungeon is not something that can be allowed to happen."

"You kept him on, though."

"Of course. Hagrid is the only indispensable member of staff here. His performance as a Professor is somewhat lacking. I would have hoped that he might have finished his first lesson without one of his pupils suffering a serious injury, for example. But his importance as gamekeeper cannot be overestimated, Harry, as I'm sure you will come to realise."

"Now, when I found that the basilisk was again carrying out attacks, I realised two things. It would have had to have been the Heir of Slytherin directing the creature. And yet, it could not be. Voldemort lived, and was crippled, hiding far away. While he lived, there could be no further Heir. So, it had to be Voldemort – but in some limited, some other form. The restrictions on the Basilisk were still in place. One of the victims might have been saved through coincidence, but all of them?"

"So, you let things go on," Harry said flatly.

"I knew that some force related to Voldemort was operating, but I did not know _what_. I knew that you would be following your own enquiries – as you always do – and I hoped that you would unearth some clue that had evaded me. And I prepared for the possibility that the basilisk might have to die."

"So, you had the sword ready." Harry felt a chill in the pit of his stomach. He knew that Dumbledore could be ruthless and calculating, but he didn't realise to what extent.

"The sword, and Fawkes. We had lost Myrtle, many years ago, and I was determined that it would not happen again. I knew that in the event that someone – and I suspected it would be you – confronted the basilisk, that Phoenix tears would save the day."

Dumbledore caught Harry's gaze and looked away. "I know that you will think the worse of me for this, Harry. I only ask you to consider what was at stake. By exposing the diary, we found Voldemort's weakness. It was the clue that led us to the Horcruxes."

"Ginny nearly DIED!" Harry's voice was high, nearly sobbing.

"And she would have done, had we not found the diary!" replied Dumbledore, his own voice emotional. "We might have killed the basilisk, but she would still have been in thrall to Tom Riddle. It was his control that was killing her. She might have brought it home to her family, passing it on one to another, as each of them succumbed to the baleful influence."

Harry thought of Ron, wearing Slytherin's Locket, becoming drained and less like himself from day to day.

"It was Ginny Weasley who saved the victims of the basilisk. Riddle's control of the creature was through her, and he could not make her overcome the protective spells. Even when manifested, he could not make the creature kill you."

"He came bloody close!" Harry remembered the sickening certainty that he was going to die – the desperate need that Ginny would live.

"A basilisk determined to kill would have destroyed you in seconds, Harry. You were able to kill one of the most terrifying beasts who has ever lived, through your own undoubted courage, yes, but through Ginny's restraints. If you saved her life, she surely saved yours."

She has, many times, thought Harry.

"In any case, all is now well," said Dumbledore. "All is well, except for one thing. We no longer have a basilisk at Hogwarts."

"Eh? You want _another_ basilisk?"

"I think the need is well-established, Harry. The threat of the creature has been enough for the last few years. Indeed, the stench of the putrefying carcass has repelled most creatures trying to infiltrate the castle sewers, but this cannot last. The offspring of Aragog are at the gates. Something must be done."

"But… Professor, why me? Haven't I…" Harry almost wailed.

"Calm yourself, Harry. This is not an unduly onerous task. I suggest you seek assistance from Miss Granger and Hagrid. Hagrid's universal compassion will surely extend to a basilisk. The new-borns are considered cute, I believe, and do not develop their more anti-social abilities until they are some months old. Miss Granger will have all the information you require, and if she doesn't know it, she will find it out."

"As to why I have chosen you – well, Harry, it's for the same reason that the founders chose Salazar Slytherin to direct his basilisk. You speak Parseltongue, and I am not aware of any other person who has that ability. The young basilisk must be given direction and guidance, like any other child."

Harry felt helpless and overwhelmed. "Sir… I have no idea what to…"

"Don't worry, Harry. I will explain what you need to do. First, you will need to find a basilisk egg. I have some ideas that might help you there, Potty. Ooh, Potty's… excuse me, Harry, I seem to be…"

Dumbledore's features appeared to be melting and reforming. "Dark magic…don't make one yourself…hee hee hee! The staff must not know, Harry, that is imperative. I cannot imagine that Professor McGonagall would permit a new basilisk in her school, even for the best… wheeee!"

And suddenly Peeves was back, cackling and bouncing. "Missed the important message, didn't we, Professor Potty! Can't keep Peeves locked up for long!"

Harry stared at Peeves, hoping that somehow he would turn back into his friend.

"Poor old Potty, waiting for Dumb Old Bore! He's not coming back, Happy Harry! That was a one-off offer, no repeats! It's Peeves forever now!" Peeves shot up in the air and began to circle the room. "Don't wet yourself! Do you need a potty, Potty? The Wee-Wee Tea was my idée. Wheeee! Pee Pee Peeeeves!"

"Peeves. Shut up, and don't touch my wand," said Harry, grabbing it from the table. He pointed it at the giggling poltergeist. " _Confringo!_ "

There was a huge blast, and pieces of poltergeist were sent flying to every corner of the room. Each of the pieces screamed individually in a cacophony. "Aaaah! You're tearing me apart!"

"That's you all over, Peeves," said Harry as he ran to the girls' bathroom. He flung open the door and ran to a cubicle.

The Wee-Wee Tea was remarkably effective. Harry remembered when Fred and George were first planning it. They had a considerable ability to devise potions that had never translated into exam results. Harry was extremely relieved to have made it on time.

That was until a familiar voice sounded in his ear. "Ooh! Harry Potter, all grown up!"

He quickly fastened his trousers. "Myrtle, you need to learn boundaries."

"It's my bathroom," Moaning Myrtle replied. "It's not my fault if you wander in."

She passed through Harry, and he gave a shudder. She materialised in front of him. "Though I _am_ glad to see you. Why do you never visit me, Harry?"

"I've been… very busy," said Harry awkwardly. His shirt was hanging out and he tried to tuck it back in.

Myrtle swooped around him. "When you say things like that, it makes me very sad."

"I'll try to call in on you again soon," said Harry, trying to move to the door.

"Now that you're here, you _could_ stay for a while," wheedled Myrtle.

"I really can't," said Harry. He grasped the handle of the door, then heard a noise. He half turned, and saw a shadow. A voice spoke – a voice Harry half thought he recognised – and then he saw only blackness.


	31. 31 - Back To Reality

Back To Reality

"Harry? Harry, are you awake?"

He opened his eyes and looked around. He was sitting in a chair in a large hall. It was painted white, with windows along one wall which looked out on a sparse lawn. There were dozens of Formica-topped tables surrounded by plastic chairs.

A middle-aged man wearing a suit was leaning over him. A Muggle suit. There were several young men surrounding him, also wearing Muggle clothes.

"Who are you? Where is this?" asked Harry.

The man smiled. "I'm a doctor, Harry. Your doctor. They called me to check on you because they said you fainted. You're in Saint Brutus', Harry. You've been here for many years. Do you remember?"

Harry shook his head. "I was… I was at Hogwarts. How did I..."

"No, Harry," said the doctor patiently. "You've been here, at Saint Brutus' since you were eleven years old. But now… tell me what you see?"

"It's a hall full of tables and chairs. Formica tables. Is this… is this the Saint Brutus Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys?"

A number of the young men laughed. The doctor frowned. "No, Harry, just the Saint Brutus Rehabilitation Centre. It's a place for boys and young men who have mental health issues. We've been trying to get you better, Harry. I've been your doctor for nearly ten years. This is the first time you've seemed to know where you really are."

Harry shook his head. "But that was just a lie, that Uncle Vernon told the neighbours."

He looked down at himself. He was wearing, not robes, but jeans and a t-shirt. The doctor placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled. "Your Uncle Vernon sent you to us, Harry. He visits you, with your aunt. Harry – we've been trying for a long time to get you to leave this imaginary place that you've been lost in, and get you back in the real world."

"I… I'm locked up here? I'm… insane?"

"That's not a word we use any more, Harry. You've just – not a proper grasp on reality. But you can see me, now. See this building. That's very good, Harry. That's very promising."

Harry looked at the doctor, and shook his head. "No. No, I don't believe this. I don't believe that my whole life is some kind of delusion. My friends, my school… I'm sorry, doctor. I can't accept this. Something… something happened."

The doctor nodded. "Of course, Harry. I'm not asking you to abandon everything in one go. This is going to take a long time. Why don't we focus on where you are right now, and what you're doing at this very moment? I'm not going to try to tell you anything apart from that."

Harry nodded. He felt sick and dizzy. He gripped the side of the chair. It felt real, and solid.

"Harry – I think this is getting to be a bit much for you. I'm going to give you a little sedative – nothing to worry about, just something to help you sleep – and then when you wake up – well, either you'll still be here, or you'll be in … where you've been before."

Harry felt a jab on his arm, and started to slip away. I'll wake up, he thought. I'll wake up and I'll be back at Hogwarts.

But he didn't. When his eyes opened, he was lying on a narrow cot in a small, neat bedroom. The walls were the same blank white as the hall. Saint Brutus', he thought. I'm still in Saint Brutus'.

A knock came on the door. Harry closed his eyes, and reopened them to the same scene. "Come in," he muttered.

A boy aged about fifteen peeped around the door. "Harry?" he said, tentatively. "How are you? Time for breakfast."

"Yeah… hang on. I'll be five minutes." Harry sat up. The door closed. Harry looked around, and saw a neat pile of clothes on a chair. A pair of worn sneakers sat on the floor.

A second door opened into a small bathroom. Harry's glasses were on a shelf above the sink. He put them on and stared into the mirror. His own face looked back. His unruly hair hanging over his forehead. He swept it back and saw the familiar scar. He was the same person, wasn't he?

He quickly washed and dressed and left his room. The boy was leaning on the opposite wall, staring vacantly. He saw Harry and his face lit up.

"Harry! Hey, is it true what they're saying? You're cured? You're better? Does that mean no more Hogwarts? I loved that, man."

Harry shook his head. "I don't know. Do we know each other?"

The boy nodded, then shook his head. "Well, I hang out with you, but I don't think you ever knew who I was. Oh, yeah, I'm Carl. I've been here three years. I mean, you always seemed to end up with us, me and our lot, whether you knew who we were or not. I think you must've."

"What was I like? Did I talk?" Harry looked down the bare white corridor, with doors on one side and windows on the other.

"Did you talk? Oh, boy, did you." Carl was laughing. "Some days we'd just sit and listen to you. Hogwarts, and Ron, and Hermione. Do you know who was my favourite? Hagrid. He was bloody funny. Sometimes there would be twenty of us, just listening. Hey, Harry, is that going to stop now?" As he talked, Carl led Harry down the corridor.

"I don't know," said Harry. "I… I don't know if I believe this or not. If I believe this then… where's my life?"

Carl opened a door that led into the hall. "You know, a lot of us would love to be able to forget the last five or ten years. Look, you know what they tell you. You can't change what's happened. Everything starts today."

They queued at a cafeteria line and Harry was handed a plate of scrambled eggs and a glass of orange juice. They sat down at a table and Harry found he was ravenously hungry. The eggs weren't good, and the orange juice was warm, but Harry finished everything. He looked up from his empty plate to see that a number of the boys in the hall were giving him covert glances. Some of them were openly staring. So one thing is the same, thought Harry. Everyone wants to know what Harry Potter is up to.

He felt a tap on his shoulder, and looked up to see the doctor. "Harry? If you're finished, can we have a little chat?"

Feeling numb, he rose and followed the doctor, who led him to a surprisingly cosy small office. The doctor gestured at a couch and Harry sat on it – then, without being asked, lay down.

"Harry, I know that your experiences over the last ten years – well, there's what I, and my colleagues say happened, and there's what you feel happened. You can only really talk about what you know, and what you know is this world of Hogwards."

"Hogwarts… what do you want me to say?" asked Harry.

"Just describe, in general, what you think about your life… what you perceive as your life, anyway."

"What's the point?" asked Harry. "I mean, if you say that it's all imaginary..."

The doctor leaned forward, his hands clasped. "It will help because if this comes from you, everything in this world of yours is an indication of what is happening in your mind. It's what happened to you that I'm interested in."

"Where should I start? What should I talk about?"

"Hm. I think it might be helpful if we started with the more… mundane elements of your life, and move on to the fantastical. If you start with the earliest you remember, and continue from there."

"Doctor. I don't know how much you know, but there are secrets… things I'm not allowed to tell."

The doctor nodded. "That's fine, Harry. I've been monitoring you for a long time, so I'm aware of the nature of… of the kind of things you've been talking about. You believe yourself to be in a world where magic is real – is that correct?"

Harry nodded warily.

"So that's not a secret any more. There's your school, a school for wizards. There's an evil wizard, who's trying to kill you." He held up a bulging paper folder. "It's all in here. Not everything you've ever said, obviously, but the gist of it. Now, if there's anything really secret, then by all means keep it to yourself. However, I think it would be all right to just clarify the main points."

"OK, doctor. Well, my parents were killed – murdered – and I was left on my aunt and uncle's doorstep…"

Harry began slowly, but gradually he found he was talking naturally. The doctor rarely intervened, except to reassure him that he was on the right lines.

"And then I was given this other mission from Dumbledore. Can't tell you what that is. Next thing I know, I wake up here." Harry paused. Had he just summarised his whole life? How long had it taken?

The doctor looked at his watch. "I'm afraid we've missed lunch, but that's all right. We'll get some sandwiches. Well, Harry, that's been very helpful. I've learned a lot."

Harry sat up. "Doctor, I'm worried. I still sort of feel that this isn't real. Well, if it isn't – then I suppose it doesn't matter what I do here."

The doctor nodded. "I'm not going to try to tell you what's real and what isn't, Harry. I hope that in time it will all become clear to you – but in the meantime, I want you to be as happy as possible."

Harry stood. "The thing is – all the things I value – everything I love – it's all in this other world. Either it's real, or it's in my mind. My friends – I don't want to lose them. Even if they're imaginary."

"I see," said the doctor. "Perhaps I can reassure you. You're right that if I, and this institution, this world, are all imaginary, and your 'Hogwarts' is real, then presumably you can do no harm by this process. I'd like to reassure you about what will happen if they aren't real – or at least, not real as having existence outside your mind."

Harry sat on the edge of the couch as the doctor continued. "It seems plain to me that these two 'friends' of yours, Ron and Hermione – they represent different facets of your personality. From the Freudian point of view, Ron is the id – the basic desires that drive each of us. Hermione represents the super-ego, the driving force of moral decisions and abstract reasoning. When you incorporate them into yourself in a healthy way, Harry, then you won't feel a loss. You will be whole."

Harry swallowed. "And… what about..."

"Ah, your girlfriend. Ginny, is it? Yes, I'll have to think about that. She's clearly very similar to your mother in many ways. That's not unusual with real girlfriends, though. But don't you see that she's very much a wish-fulfilment? She's your best friend's sister, she's the most beautiful girl in the school, she'll wait for you forever, she's even on the… the flying football…"

"Quidditch," said Harry shortly.

"She's on the Quidditch team with you, and she loves the game as much as you do, and she's _nearly_ as good. Harry, my hope is that you will come to see that your desires, your wishes – and your fears – are all legitimate emotions, which you can fully express. When this happens, your other world will slowly slip into the background. It will be as much a part of you as ever. I hope it will remain a resource for you."

Harry thought for a few seconds. "It's just, for me, these are real people, doctor. I'm sorry, what is your name?"

"I'm Doctor Riddle, Harry. Thomas Riddle."

Harry gasped. "You're Tom Riddle?"

He backed away to the corner of the room

The doctor stared at him with concern. "Harry – what's wrong?"

"You're Voldemort!" Harry spat out. "That's what this is!"

The doctor shook his head. "I said my name was Riddle, Harry. Why do you think I'm this… Lord Voldemort?"

"Tom Riddle _is_ Voldemort! Tom Marvolo Riddle – it's an anagram of I Am Lord Voldemort. It's his real name! Your real name!" Harry reached for his wand, but of course it wasn't there.

The doctor held up his hands. "Look, Harry. First, my name isn't 'Marvolo'. That isn't even a real name. It's a made-up stage magician's name. Second, you said this Voldemort character is dead. Thirdly – well, if I were actually somebody trying to trick you, I wouldn't tell you my real name, would I?"

Harry took a deep breath. "I suppose. If this is all a big conspiracy, then using that name would be a bit of a giveaway."

"It's an interesting little twist from my point of view," said the doctor. "It appears as if Lord Voldemort is a kind of version of me. Is that what you think I am, Harry?"

Harry grinned and shook his head. "I don't, really. Either you're a figment of my imagination, or Voldemort is. I suppose I'm willing to trust you on that basis for the time being, doctor."

"In that case, let's find ourselves some lunch. If you still think I'm an evil wizard, then you can do something about it later."

Harry sat alone in the empty hall, eating a limp ham sandwich. The doctor had excused himself and returned to his office. No, Harry thought to himself. This is not true.

He'd been knocked out, and kidnapped. He'd been brought to this place where people were trying to convince him that magic wasn't real, that all his life was a lie.

He was not going to accept that. He finished the sandwich, and leaned back. Without magic he didn't know how to get to Hogwarts easily, or the Burrow, but there were plenty of places in London that he could find. As an Auror he had been to a number of Ministry of Magic offices, and knew the way to access them.

He heard a door open, and looked up to see a middle-aged woman walking towards him. She smiled at him, and pulled up a chair at his table.

"Hello, Harry," she said. "Mind if I join you."

He nodded and she sat down.

"It's quite strange talking to you. I know you so well. I remember when you first joined us, as a little boy. In all that time, you never seemed to know me, or to talk to me. Do you recognise me at all? Any idea who I am?"

Harry shook his head. The woman looked completely unfamiliar.

"I'm Jane Adkins, Harry. I'm the administrator for St Brutus. I was only one of the assistants when you first came here. You were… well, I suppose it's fair to say you were in a world of your own."

"Literally," said Harry, dryly.

"I usually greet new residents when they arrive, but in your case it really hasn't been possible until now. We all know you very well, Harry. I think it's fair to say that you're quite popular with staff and residents, though how well we really know you, it's hard to say."

"And I'm afraid that I don't recognise any of you at all," said Harry.

"I'll leave all the medical details to the professionals," continued Jane Adkins. "I'm told that we should assume that you'll remain in your present state for the time being, and our aim is to help you manage the transition to normal life."

She opened a folder full on notes which had Harry's name on it. "You've at no time been a threat to the safety of yourself or anyone else, so there's no justification for restricting your movements. You have previously kept mostly to the grounds, but I think you've accompanied various outings into town and elsewhere, under staff supervision. You may come and go freely, but I would recommend that you take things easy to start with."

She riffled through the pages. "Since you came here you've been entitled to a weekly cash allowance. You've never been in a position to draw on it, so it's been invested for you in a savings account. You may have the bank book if you wish. There's a total of… let me see… over fifteen thousand pounds."

"Gosh," said Harry. He'd always been rich in the wizarding world, but had never had any Muggle money of his own.

"Now that may seem like a lot, but if you want to re-integrate into the world it won't go very far! You've not much in the way of qualifications. In fact, you have no qualifications at all, or training."

Harry thought about what he was good at. Riding broomsticks, casting a Patronus. Nothing that would help him in this world. The Muggle world.

"Would it be possible to have a little cash – I mean, until the bank is sorted out?" He didn't know quite what he wanted the money for, but he was quite sure he would need some.

"Of course. Just go to the front desk and ask them. We normally hold money for most of the residents." She stood up.

"If there's anything you need, come straight to me, Harry. We're all fond of you here, and it's been wonderful to suddenly see that you're with us – really one of the gang." She patted him on the shoulder and left.

Harry decided that he should not delay any more than absolutely necessary. His friends would be looking for him, worried about his disappearance. They – whoever 'they' were – didn't want to kill him – if they had, he'd be dead by now – but there must be some plan, and whatever it was, he would have to try to escape before it came into effect.

He decided to make a break the next day. The woman at the front desk advanced him two hundred pounds without question – ten twenty-pound notes. That's enough to get me to London, he thought. I can go to Gringotts – wait, he couldn't go to Gringotts. But he'd find people he knew at the Ministry, at the Aurors' office. Neville or Ron would help him – and then send a team to investigate this place, whatever it was.

He found that he was able to wander the building freely, but there were people everywhere – nurses, cleaners, patients, security guards. They all seemed to know him, and gave him a cheery greeting. They all seemed so sincere. Could they all be part of the same plot? Perhaps they didn't know what was going on. But they must, if they were claiming that he'd been here for half his life. Where they under some kind of spell? They didn't seem confused – but if their memories had been altered? It was puzzling. He'd ask Kingsley Shacklebolt. He'd figure it out.

The routine of St. Brutus' seemed simple enough. He knew when it was dinner time when he saw the boys making their way to the hall. They were a mixed lot. Some seemed aggressive, throwing their weight around. Some were shy and nervous. Most of them seemed vaguely anxious. All, however, seemed to know Harry, and acknowledged him, either with a nod or a called greeting.

He saw Carl after he collected his meal – a tired looking burger with chips - and joined him at a corner table. Carl greeted him cheerfully.

They chatted aimlessly for a few minutes. Carl mentioned various things from the Muggle world – football teams, television programmes, celebrities. Harry recognised them all. I wonder, he thought. If I was in a kind of trance all that time, how would I know about these things?

"Do you get away much?" Harry asked casually. "Into town, off on little outings?"

"Boy, this is weird, talking to you – well, walking like this, about real stuff, you know? Sometimes I'd say something – about one of your people, you know, Dumbledore or something, and you'd reply, or you'd seem to." Carl was laughing. "Anyway – yeah, we can leave. Well, some of us can. You have to check out at the desk. It's not a secure unit – that's over in another building – but there are people who can't really be unattended. I was kept in for the first three months."

"Where do you go?" asked Harry, keeping his voice level.

"Oh, into town. Around the shops, the arcades, you know. We have to be careful – they pick on you if they know you come from here. It's usually all right though."

"Ever go in to London?" He couldn't keep a slight quaver out of his voice. He hoped that Carl didn't notice.

"Oh, I wouldn't. Don't like the crowds. There's a few guys who do. Catch the coach first thing in the morning, and get it back at night. Not supposed to stay away overnight without permission, but of course some do. Some skip out altogether, come to that. Anyway, the coach station is right in the centre, near the big stores."

"Oh, right." He tried to keep his voice bored. "Where's the telly room?"

"You've forgotten? You spent enough time there, just staring at the screen." So that's how I found out about the Muggle world, thought Harry. No, stop. This is a trick. I've been kidnapped, and however nice Carl, and the doctor – Doctor Riddle! - and the rest seem, they're lying to me. Or they've been tricked, or controlled. I have to believe in what I've lived through.

Time seemed to drag impossibly slowly, but eventually the boys started to wander off. Even though it was still light, Harry went to his room. He couldn't sleep for many hours, going over and over his situation. As much as he kept telling himself that his memories were real, he couldn't help feeling doubts. Over and over he repeated to himself – Ron, Hermione, Ginny. They existed, as themselves, not as an idea in his head.

It was almost dawn when he slept, and it was uneasy, fitful, unsatisfying sleep. He eventually got up and stood staring out of his narrow window at the sparse lawn, half visible in the morning mist.

When Carl's knock came at his door, he was dressed and ready. He wanted to be off as soon as possible, but didn't want to draw attention. He made sure to have a large breakfast. He wouldn't have time to stop along the way.

He wanted to say goodbye to Carl, but decided against it. Carl was either part of the plot against him, or he had some kind of false memory of Harry. The eager-to-please boy was not what he seemed.

"See you later, Carl. Something I need to do." He returned to his room and found a jacket, which he rolled up as tightly as he could under his arm. He walked quickly to the front desk. "I'd like to go out for the day, please," he asked the security guard.

"Just sign here," the man said, barely looking at Harry. Harry signed and walked out. Was it really that easy? He realised that he should have asked directions. He would have to wander around and find his way to the coach station.

It turned out to be quite easy to find the way to the centre of the town. Somehow every guess worked out correctly. It was like using magic, in a way. Harry stood outside the coach station and flexed his fingers. He'd never tried to use magic without a wand, but before he came to Hogwarts he'd made things happen, without knowing what he was doing. He pointed to a leaf on the ground. "Wingardium Leviosa," he whispered. Nothing happened. He couldn't feel the surge of power that always came with magic, even without a wand. The leaf stayed where it was. He sighed, lowered his hand. The leaf blew away with a gust of wind.

I'll get a wand, he thought to himself. My own wand, even.

He went to the ticket window. "Ticket for London, please," he asked.

"Single or return," the man at the counter said in a bored voice.

"Single."

"A return is cheaper, today."

"Er… a return, then."

The man reached for a ticket. "When are you coming back?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm not."

"Why do you want a return then?" The man sounded completely uninterested.

"Um. Because it's cheaper?"

There was a coach for London leaving in twenty minutes. Harry found a seat at the back and leaned into the corner. He felt nervous as he waited for it to depart, expecting the coach to be boarded at any moment. He stared out the window, avoiding the gazes of the other passengers.

The journey wasn't long, but to Harry it seemed an eternity. He continued to stare out the window, but noticed nothing. When the coach arrived in London he waited for the other passengers to disembark first, watching to see if anyone was waiting. He then quickly ran to the underground.

Harry had used public transport in London before. As an underage wizard he wasn't allowed magic, and he'd often taken the bus or Tube to get around. It seemed odd and unfamiliar to him now.

He arrived in Whitehall and began to look for the Ministry of Magic. The roads around the Westminster station looked strange – different to what he remembered. He walked slowly towards the Ministry building, feeling a mounting sense of dread.

The road and buildings seemed completely foreign to him. As he approached where he knew the Ministry of Magic to be, he looked among the crowds for wizards. They would all be in disguise, of course, but easily recognisable to each other. Every face he passed was a Muggle.

When he eventually reached where the Ministry should have been. It wasn't there. The building that stood in its place was a modern office block. The area should have been full of Ministry wizards passing back and forth. There were none.

He walked into the lobby of the building and looked at the reception desk. There were three women sitting there, wearing smart suits. They weren't witches. He walked to the desk. One of the women looked up and smiled at him. He opened his mouth to speak, but realised that he didn't have anything to say. Should he ask if this was the Ministry of Magic? If it was, transformed, hidden, then they wouldn't tell him anyway.

He left, and stood on the street, looking up and down. He took a deep breath. Perhaps the Ministry had relocated, or hidden the building. There might be some new menace that he didn't know about. He would have to try somewhere else.

He returned to the Tube station and took a train to Kings Cross. He first looked for the wall between platforms 9 and 10. It seemed subtly different. He pushed against it and nothing happened. Never mind, he thought. It isn't the start of the school year. The train isn't there, so I probably shouldn't be able to get onto the platform.

Grimmauld Place! Yes, that's nearby. A few minutes' walk, in Islington. Could he get in? He was still a member of the Order Of The Phoenix, and he owned the house. Even without a wand… even without magic, he could enter there.

But Grimmauld Place didn't seem to exist. The roads around it were still in the same place, but the street itself had gone. It was as if the charm which made number 12 invisible had extended to the whole of Grimmauld Place.

Harry no longer wanted to travel by Tube or bus. He was desperate not to miss anything – some shop or house that he'd forgotten, that would bring his world back to him.

It took over an hour to walk to Charing Cross Road. It began to rain, and he could feel drips of water running down his cheeks. He felt a sense of mounting dread as to what he would find.

Or rather, not find. The Leaky Cauldron wasn't there. Harry walked the full length of the road three times, but there was no sign of it. No way in to Diagon Alley.

He knew, now, but still spent the rest of the day roaming London, looking for every wizard location he could find. There was nothing.

In the end, he walked all the way back to the coach station. The rain had stopped, but he still felt damp and uncomfortable. And defeated.

It was past midnight when he found himself back at the door of St Brutus'. He tapped on the glass, and the security guard sitting at the desk wandered over and unlocked the door. "You look done in," he said. "Better get to bed, quick." Harry fell asleep before he could even undress, but his dreams were troubled and confused.

The next morning, after breakfast, he made his way to Doctor Riddle's office, hardly knowing why. He found himself lying on the couch, telling him everything that had happened the previous day.

"I didn't believe you. I was sure this place was some kind of trick. Now… everything I remember is … well, there's nothing there. It's either hidden from me, by some trick, or else… or else..." Harry tailed off.

"Or else it was never there in the first place. That frightens you, doesn't it?" The doctor's voice was low and kind.

"I remembered those places so clearly. Now I go there and there's nothing."

"Harry – can we go back to when you first remembered the experience of magic. How did you react?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Well… at first it seemed crazy. Impossible. Then after a bit there wasn't really any choice but to believe it."

"That's right. Belief only works up to a point. When everything you see contradicts what you've always believed… Harry, you can go whenever you want. You can look at anything, anywhere. But you'll find what you found yesterday. I think you know that."

Harry said nothing for a long time. He stared vacantly. Eventually, he said "I don't think there's any choice, is there? I have to live in the world as I find it."

"No choice at all," said the doctor.

Harry found that he quickly slipped into the routine of Saint Brutus'. He had almost daily sessions with the doctor. He became close friends with Carl, and found he was quite popular among the other residents. He began telling them about his life in the magical world. After a while, they became stories, and he found it difficult to tell whether he was remembering them or making them up. "Does it make any difference?" he thought to himself. "They were never real."

His talks with Doctor Riddle had become informal chats for the most part. He regarded the doctor as his friend. He was allowed to enter and leave the institute at will, and often wandered into the local town, browsing the bookshops and sitting in the park.

After about three months since what he now referred to as his awakening, Doctor Riddle sat down next to him at lunch. "Harry – a quick question. Your aunt and uncle stopped visiting a couple of years ago because… well, you seemed a bit upset to see them. Would you be willing for them to come in this weekend, just for half an hour?" The doctor smiled at him, looking hopeful.

"Sure!" said Harry. "I mean… I still only remember… well, my version. Sleeping under the stairs, the rest of it. But I don't mind seeing them. It might get a few things straight."

"I can't vouch for what went on in your childhood," said the doctor. "I don't suppose we'll ever know for sure."

"I think I've just to make my mind up that I'll never know what's real. I mean, I know what isn't – and I miss some of it. I don't know what my relationship is going to be with my family – but at least they really exist. That's got to be a plus."

"That's an interesting way to look at it. You know, we've talked about your aunt and uncle before. I know that whatever you remember is..."

"Highly unreliable!" said Harry, laughing.

"Still, it was while you were under their care that this happened. I'm not saying it was necessarily because of something they did, but I'm a believer in cause and effect. If you find that you're uncomfortable dealing with them, then by all means, tell me, and I'll curtail the visits. Put the blame on me if you want."

"I really don't know how I feel about them," said Harry. "I've been living in the present for the last few months, trying to make a life for myself. I kind of parked them with the things that weren't real. I suppose I forgot that while the rest of it wasn't out there in the real world, they were. I think it's time to reconnect."

Harry almost forgot about his appointment until the Saturday. He remembered as he was getting up, and immediately felt a surge of anxiety. He'd become accustomed to the idea that he and his aunt and uncle shared a mutual distaste, and didn't want to see each other. Now it seemed that they were to voluntarily spend time together.

He was, for once, sitting alone for breakfast when Jane Adkins came over to him. "Harry, good morning. You're looking very well."

He swallowed a mouthful of scrambled egg. "Morning, Jane. I'm feeling good. Things are making sense now."

She patted him on the shoulder. "Good for you. Listen, Harry, I have to get on, but I have to tell you that your uncle can't make it today. He was called into the office. Your aunt is coming though."

Harry shrugged. "No problem. One at a time is probably best anyway."

The meeting was scheduled for one o'clock. Harry wandered to the family room at about half twelve, and sat outside, drumming his fingers on the side of his chair. After what seemed an eternity Jane Adkins came out. "She's here, Harry," she said quietly. "Go on in."

With some trepidation, Harry opened the door and walked in. He was totally unprepared for what he saw. Instead of his aunt, sitting at the table in the family room was Hermione Granger.


End file.
